


Wrapped Up In Books

by reachthetree



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Book Club AU, M/M, lots of talk about books basically, warning for lots of alcohol throughout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2015-03-30
Packaged: 2018-01-16 17:11:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 42,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1355263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reachthetree/pseuds/reachthetree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow life always gets in the way of fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fight Club

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a conversation about 1D and literature with the wonderful [Claire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetoscar/pseuds/Velvetoscar). The suckiness is all mine, though. It's incredibly self-indulgent but I hope someone will enjoy it.

Tyler Durden would not have been late for his book club meeting. 

That was Louis’ main thought as he tried to run silently through the library. Granted, Tyler probably wouldn’t have gone to school either, and he most certainly would not have been doing any extracurricular activities. Still. In an alternate universe where Tyler Durden went to school – and also wasn’t a fictional character in the mind of another fictional character – he would not have been late. Louis got to the study room and waited outside for a few minutes to try and catch his breath. He really should quit smoking. Some day. Maybe. When he walked in Zayn looked at him with raised eyebrows but didn’t say anything. Louis sat down and let out the breath he was holding. He was good. He was all right.

Zayn folded his hands together and smiled at the group. “So what did everybody think about Fight Club?” He looked around the table and waited for someone to speak up. As usual, it was Louis.

“It was really cool, actually. It made me feel things.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, me too. It’s so brilliantly written. To pull off switches between first and second person that well is amazing.”

Niall laughed. “Keep your panties on, H, we all know that.” 

Louis rolled his eyes. “What are your brilliant observations then, Niall?”

Niall shrunk down in his seat and his shoulders disappeared into his purple hoodie. “Um… Well, if you must know, I found its views on capitalism really appealing.”

Zayn turned his head toward him. “Really, Niall? Would you care to elaborate on that?”

The blonde boy tapped his fingers against the table. “Sure. I. See. It’s. Er. The thing about how we need to erase money and start from scratch? I think that sounds like the only way to do it. If you want to destroy capitalism, that is.”

Liam hadn’t said anything yet. Zayn turned to him. “That’s interesting. What do you think, Liam?”

Liam sighed. “Actually, I don’t think that’s very interesting at all.” Niall frowned as Liam continued, “I think we should discuss how this work, clearly with heavy elements of anarchism, gets praised and cinematized while the SCUM manifesto is only read by a select few.”

Harry flung his hand out in an indignant gesture. “I was going to say that!” 

Liam shrugged. “You could have.”

Zayn’s eyebrows were raised so high they could have been his quiff’s mustache. “Please do expand on that, Liam.”

“Well, see, they’re both all about destroying the source of the problem in very literal ways.”

Harry waved excitedly. “Yes, yes, but the difference is in Fight Club the problem is money and in the SCUM manifesto the problem is men!”

Zayn’s eyes always got a glint in them when they got excited about a book, so Louis couldn’t stop himself from chiming in: “Even in Fight Club the problem for women is men.”

But Harry started pulling the hem of his sweater and looking concerned. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk like we know what problems women have. It feels weird.”

Louis rolled his eyes again. “That’s a fair point, but another point is that Valerie Solanas, a woman, has explicitly told us how much of a problem men are. You’re going out into the real world, but we’re talking about literature. And I don’t think it’s taking over someone’s experiences to interpret a text. Both Fight Club and SCUM are pretty clear about the message they wish to send.”

Zayn nodded. “Very good, Louis. But in real life discussions, Harry, I think your point is very important. Remember that, the rest of you. Niall, are you listening?” 

Niall hunched the table trying to hide the fact that he was scribbling in a notebook. At Zayn’s remark he looked up and reflexively hid what he was writing with his arms. “Sorry, professor, I just, got an idea for a song is all.”

“Good for you, Niall, but maybe that could wait for a while.” Niall bit his lip and put his pen down. Zayn nodded his approval. “Now, let’s talk about the writing style that Harry mentioned earlier. Has anyone read anything else by Palahniuk?”

Louis started bouncing in his seat. “Yes, yes! I love him!”

Zayn took his glasses of and cleaned them with the sleeve of his shirt, then turned to Louis with a smile. “And what makes him so brilliant then, Louis?” He looked at Louis like he was actually interested in his opinion and Louis felt like the sun was shining on him and him only. He cleared his throat.

“Okay, so, one thing is the kind of things he writes about. Like, it’s usually pretty morbid, and he doesn’t shy away from stuff like bodily functions, which lots of people do. But then the way he writes. He does this thing where he repeats the same sentence here and there, and it’s cool, partly because it knits the text together, but also it just makes it feel true.” He had to take a deep breath.

Harry nodded. “Yeah, exactly. It creates a feeling of significance.”

“That is an excellent observation, boys,” Zayn said, and Louis felt a little sting of annoyance. Harry had just agreed with him, why did he get to share the credit? Harrumph. 

Liam was looking back and forth at Zayn and Louis with a look on his face. Louis pretended not to notice.  
Zayn, however, noticed that Niall was writing again. “Niall, if you could pay attention that would be swell, since you’re here voluntarily.” Niall threw his pen away and flashed his most adorable smile. Zayn shook his head and crossed his arms before continuing. “Now, how about we talk about the movie?”

Liam scrunched his face. “I thought this was a book club.”

Zayn sighed. “It is, but literature goes beyond the written page. We’ve been through this.”

Louis couldn’t help himself. “If you don’t like it you can just leave the club,” he said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Simmer down, Lewis, that will hardly be necessary,” Zayn said. Liam made a triumphant face at Louis, who muttered, “It’s Louis”.

“I love the movie,” Harry said with beaming eyes. “It uses the repetition of phrases too, and the way it’s narrated makes it feel more like the book than most movies from books do.”

“Mhm, mhm. Do you think that makes it better than other movies made from books?”

Harry blinked and bit the inside of his cheek. “Uh, I mean, I think it’s really good as far as movies from books go, but movies are also a different type of media, and I’d feel weird saying that one way of telling a story is superior to another.”

“Exactly!” Louis said. “I get so annoyed when people go on about how books are better than movies, especially when it comes to cinematized books. Like, it’s different experiences, why can’t people accept that?”

Niall stroked his chin. “I don’t know if I agree. I mean, aren’t some ways of telling a story better than others?”

Liam leaned back with his arms crossed and nodded. “I find books to be way more complex.”

Louis huffed. “You know, Lime, if you can’t find interesting ways to interpret something that someone else hasn’t been intellectual about first, maybe it’s you who’s not very interesting.”

Zayn clicked his tongue in warning. “Please, Louis, be nice.”

Louis sighed. He knew he was right, but whatever. Not his problem. 

Zayn looked at the clock on the wall. “That’s about it for today, boys. I’d just like to say that I agree that there are no ‘better’ ways to tell stories. However, there are techniques that make stories more accessible and/or poignant, but there is no need to be elitist about it. Okay, I hope you’ve got your copies of The Catcher in the Rye, because next time we get our Salinger on. See you then!”

Niall immediately got his notebook out and started scribbling in it again as he walked out the door. How he didn’t walk into the doorframe was a mystery. Louis stayed in his seat and watched Zayn pack up his things.

Zayn closed his briefcase and stood up. “Did you want something, Lewis?”

“It’s Louis, actually. And in fact I did want something. I was wondering what you thought of my performance today?”

Zayn chuckled. “Performance? It’s not a stage, Louis, it’s just a table you’ve probably written profanities on.”

“That wasn’t me!”

“Really now? I wonder who else liked The Old Man and the Sea enough to scribble ‘Hemingway could get his way’ on a table. I seem to remember that you were quite enamored with that book.”

Louis blushed. “In my defense, that could mean anything.”

“If you say so. About your question, I’ll say the same thing as always; you’re good at this, but you could be nice to your friends. It’s completely unnecessary to put them down in your effort to do well. I see your brightness, Louis, there’s no need to be competitive.”

Louis knew intellectually that this was mostly praise and not a bad thing, but he felt like his stomach had disappeared. “I’ll remember that. Thank you.”

Zayn patted his shoulder. “Okay? I’ll see you in two weeks. Have a good one.”

He left Louis standing by the vandalized table. Louis thought that it was lucky he hadn’t written “I want Ernest to have his Hemingway with me” as he had originally planned. That would have been even more embarrassing to hear from Zayn’s perfect lips. Should it really be allowed for a professor to be so beautiful? Louis wanted to file a complaint. “Yes, hello universe. There seems to be a mistake here? This person is brilliant, academically successful, and breathtakingly gorgeous? Please fix this immediately before I die of embarrassment. Sincerely, Louis.”

It was too bad Harry hadn’t stuck around; Louis would have liked a cup of tea with him. They usually continued discussing the topic of the day and Louis liked the way Harry looked at him when he was talking. Like he was important. As it was, Louis scurried home by himself, feeling like a side character in his own life. Niall was busy with band practice so Louis came home to an empty apartment. He looked at Niall’s guitar on the wall and kicked a shoe. Why hadn’t he learnt to play an instrument from an early age? When they were about fifteen Niall had tried to teach him a bit, but apart from Hanson’s Mmmbop Louis never managed to learn. Patience wasn’t his strong suit. Being bitter about his lack of patience, on the other hand, he excelled in.

He glanced at the bookshelf. Should he start reading The Catcher in the Rye now? But ugh, Holden. Louis didn’t know if he could take that right now. Maybe he should call his mother? Yeah, if he wanted to be teased endlessly about his silly crush. How about no.

There was mold in the sink. Louis had never pictured himself as a person with mold in the sink. He had more pictured himself with a sink that magically cleaned itself. Fantasy Louis lived in a distant future where this was reasonable. In this distant future Louis was also magically rich enough to do anything he wanted but not the kind of rich that made people insufferable.

As he was pondering his other life in an alternate universe, his phone buzzed with a text from Stan, asking if he wanted to get a beer. All right then. He might as well make the best of this universe.

The local pub was a bit dirty, a bit loud, and a bit like Louis. The dark wood made Louis feel like he was at his grandmother’s house as a kid. It was a pleasant feeling. When he got there Stan was already waiting for him in a stall with two beers.

He sat down and swooped one of the beers into his arms. “Well isn’t this nice of you!”

Stan raised his own beer. “No problem. Cheers!” They drank.

Louis wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “So how are you this evening?”

Stan sighed. “I’m all right.”

“Just all right? What’s up?”

“It’s just, you know. Dad went in again.”

Louis shuffled in his seat. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I guess I should be used to it by now.”

“Nah, that’s not something you should have to get used to.”

Stan gave him a weak smile. “Thanks. Anyway, I didn’t bring you here to be sad, talk to me about something else. How was book club?”

Louis threw his head back and exclaimed, “Wahh, I don’t know.” Stan raised his eyebrows in question and Louis continued, “It’s fun to talk about books, obviously, and Zayn is amazing, but there’s this kid called Liam who’s super annoying, and Harry just agrees with me all the time, and did I mention how hot Zayn is? It’s not fair.”

Stan laughed. “You might have mentioned Zayn’s hotness one or a hundred times, yes.”

“But his cheekbones! They look like some very powerful god carved them! And he wears the kind of glasses I like! And stubble! And his lips are–“ Stan hushed him.

“I know, Louis.”

“It’s just very frustrating. And distracting.”

“But what about Harry? I thought you liked him?”

“I do! I just wish he would agree less with me. Make the discussions a bit more interesting. I don’t mean to sound like a douche, but Liam is just pretentious without substance, and Niall doesn’t say much, so Harry is my only worthy adversary.”

Stan spun his beer bottle between his hands. “It’s not a contest, you know.”

Louis sighed. “But it is.”

“You have issues.”

“Hey! Why don’t you tell me something I don’t know.”

They chuckled. Louis downed what was left of his beer. “Whatever, let’s get drunk and reckless and do something stupid.”

Stan smiled. “That’s an issue I can do something with.”

There was a second beer. Then there was a third. Louis vaguely thought he should have had dinner. But he figured there’s nutrients in beer. Vitamin b and calories and stuff. Totally valid dinner. He was good. He was all right. By the fourth beer he wasn’t the least bit hungry anyway. Tyler Durden would have done the same.

It was probably because of Tyler Durden Louis ended up starting a fight with Stan in the street outside. It was probably because of something else entirely he let Stan win. And it was probably because of beer and the way it feels when someone straddles you that he let Stan kiss him. Hard struggle and soft lips.

Louis woke up the next morning with a burning stomach, throbbing headache, and a strong sense of having fucked up. When he reached for his phone he noticed a bruise on his right arm. Oh. The fight. What was the fight about? He recalled Stan on top of him and… Oh. The kiss. What was the kiss about?

Louis heard glasses clinking in the kitchen. “Niall,” he groaned. He waited for a reaction that didn’t come. “Niall,” he tried to say a bit louder. When that didn’t work he drew breath to shout, but that made his stomach turn so he quickly revised that decision.

After breathing slowly for a while to calm his nausea, Louis dragged himself out to the kitchen. Niall was sitting on the kitchen counter drinking tea. When he saw the state of Louis he snickered.

“I see you had a bit of fun last night.”

“Niall,” Louis whined. “I snogged Stan.”

Niall burst into laughter. “You did what?!”

Louis gave him a stern look. “I’m glad my suffering amuses you.”

“I’m sorry. You want to tell me what happened?”

Louis swallowed and scrunched his face in disgust. “I… want to brush my teeth.”

This made Niall laugh again. “Go on then. I’ll be here, enjoying not being hung over.”

“Thanks for that.”

When Louis got back he noticed that Niall was wearing the same long-sleeved shirt as the day before. “Hey, did you not sleep here?” He dumped himself in a chair.

Niall cleared his throat. “Um, no, I stayed at Luke’s. But tell me about your snogging session with Stan. How was it?”

Louis made a sound that was half laughter, half sobbing. “I don’t know, I don’t remember. Somehow we got into a fight and then he was on top of me and we kissed.”

Niall waggled his eyebrows. “Sexy.”

“Stop! It was not sexy, it was messy.”

“Sorry. Who initiated it?”

Louis rubbed his temples. “I think it was him, actually? I’m not sure. It just happened.”

“So are you attracted to him?”

“I don’t know. Kissing is nice?” Niall nodded. “But he’s my oldest friend. You know? I… It’s weird.”

Niall folded his arms. “Does it have to be weird, though? I mean, friends kiss sometimes under the influence. It happens. Is it really that big of a deal?”

His voice was higher pitched than usual and Louis frowned. “Yes, Niall, it is a big deal. To me, at least. Kissing means something to me, and I really don’t want mine and Stan’s friendship messed up by messing around.”

Niall looked down at his hands. “Okay, I see your point. Talk to him?”

Louis whined. “I suppose I have to. Do we have any cereal left?”

“I got some on the way home. In the usual cupboard.”

Louis got up and patted Niall’s shoulder. “Thanks, mate. You’re golden.”

After cereal, several cups of tea and a nap, Louis felt good enough to read. However, after searching the bookshelf he remembered that he had actually given away his copy of The Catcher in the Rye. He laughed to himself. His beef with Holden was more intense than he cared to admit. However amusing this was, it meant that he had to put on some clothes fit for being in public and go outside. Something Louis didn’t really feel like doing. Although if he did, he could be done with reading it by the time the weekend came along. That prospect was appealing enough for him to crawl into a pair of jeans and put a beanie on his head to get out of fixing his hair.

On his way to the library Louis realized he was still a little tired from the night before. As he was crossing the lawn in front of it, Harry appeared at his side and interrupted his dizziness.

“Are you going to the library?” Harry smiled.

Louis nodded. “Yeah.”

“Holden?” Louis nodded again. “Mind if I come with you?”

Louis returned Harry’s smile. “Not at all.”

The copy of The Catcher that Louis checked out was old and he couldn’t resist the urge to sniff it when Harry looked the other way. Holden might have been an asshole, but at least he smelled nice. With a sigh that was both content and tired Louis sat down and opened the book. Down to business. He kept checking his phone to see if Stan had texted him – hopefully to say that it was no big deal and they should go on as if nothing happened – but the screen was as empty as ever.

It was comforting to have Harry reading on the other side of the table. In the silence of the library Louis could hear Harry’s pencil whisper against his notebook every time he wrote something down. He took a lot of notes, biting his bottom lip in concentration and flicking his pencil against the table. Louis shushed him and Harry giggled. “Oops.”

Louis did not take a lot of notes. The ones he did were, well, not the most profound.

After a little more than an hour of Holden’s whining Louis had enough. He reached out and poked Harry’s plaid-clad arm. “Hey. Want to get some coffee?”

Harry was in the middle of writing something down and didn’t look up. “I thought you didn’t drink coffee.”

“It’s an expression. Whatever. Do you?”

Harry sighed. “Sure. I’ve gotten some work done. Might as well.”

“Great!” Louis jumped out of his chair a little too quickly, and his head started spinning again. “Oh no, no, bad idea, bad head, ow.” He shut his eyes and tried to center himself again.

“Hangover?” Harry’s voice was soft.

“I don’t want to talk about it. But yes.”

“Better get you some tea, then.” Louis opened his eyes to a smiling Harry.

Harry chose a coffee shop with pink walls and doilies and tea lights on each table. It wasn’t very busy this Thursday afternoon, and Louis sat down at the prime table by the window toward the street. On the other side of the road was a park and he could see dogs playing and their owners trying to stay in control. Being a dog seemed nice, Louis thought. Lots of happiness and an owner to take care of all the worldly things such as getting food and keeping a roof over your head.

His thoughts were interrupted when Harry placed a teacup in front of him. “I bought you a piece of cake too, hold on and I’ll get it.”

Before Louis could react Harry was gone and then back with a giant piece of carrot cake. “Wow, the service is great here,” Louis grinned. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry sat down and dropped a sugar cube into his tea.

Louis frowned. “I still can’t believe you take your tea with sugar. You’re too weak, Styles.”

“I just like sweet things, Tomlinson.”

“Whatever.” Louis poked his carrot cake and licked the frosting of his finger. “How are you? We never talked yesterday.”

Harry put his hands around his cup. “I know. I’m… good?”

“You sound hesitant.”

He let go of the cup and started fixing his hair. “I don’t know, it’s just, a lot lately. The magazine has been giving me a ton of albums to review and in between that and school and trying to have a social life I just… Feel sort of drained.”

“I see. But it’s good that they’re giving you lots of stuff, though, right? Must mean they like you.”

Harry covered his infatuated grin with a hand. “I would hope so, yeah.”

Louis smiled. “You really love doing it, don’t you?”

Harry let his hand fall into his lap. “I really do.”

“So focus on that. If you reckon that’s what you’ll be doing with your life it seems like the best way to spend your time. Right?”

Harry kept quiet and thought about this for a while. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Do what you love and fuck the rest,” Louis said and took a sip of his tea. As it turned out it was still too hot. He tried to soothe his tongue by putting it on the frosting of his cake.

Harry giggled. “Did you just quote Little Miss Sunshine?”

“Ah do’ kno’.” 

“You did. That’s beautiful. And true, I guess. I just didn’t think about it like that before.” Louis was still hunched over his cake with his tongue pressed against it as Harry kept talking. “I just, saw it all as stuff I have to do, you know?”

“Mhm?” Louis tried to nod without moving his tongue away but failed, so he sat up with his tongue still out and white frosting all over it.

This made Harry giggle again. “I’m sorry, but you look pornographic.”

Louis pulled his tongue back in and swallowed the frosting. “Gee, thanks. Now I know what my back-up career should be.”

“I’m sorry. By the way, what’s your first choice for a career? I don’t think you’ve ever told me.”

Louis sighed. “I don’t know, really?”

“Well, what do you love?”

“I don’t know.” Louis sighed. “I mean, I love books. But what am I supposed to do with that? I don’t want to write them. I just want to read them and think and talk about them.”

Harry smirked. “And occasionally smell them.”

Louis slapped his own forehead and groaned. “You saw that? But yes.”

“I think librarian is the number one book-smelling profession. Or English teacher, maybe? English professor?”

Louis visualized Zayn and a smile spread on his face. “I guess I could do the professor thing.” He blushed at his choice of words. Damn it.

“Okay!” Harry clapped his hands. “That’s both our futures sorted, then.”

Louis laughed. “That was easy.”

“Well, we are pretty damn intelligent.”

Louis took, with great caution, a sip of his tea. It was now the perfect temperature. “Thank god for that.” He put the cup down with a clink and continued, “But let’s talk about something else now. Do you have any new music recs for me?”

Harry lit up and started waving his hands enthusiastically while describing his latest music love. Louis wrote down the name of the album and they spent almost an hour talking about music and related things. When they got up to leave Louis snuck a peek at his phone. Still no word from Stan. Louis sighed for about the thousand time that day.

This never would have happened to Tyler Durden.


	2. The Catcher in the Rye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Jess istajmaal for reading this over before I posted it, remaining suckiness is all on me! Major nerdiness and pop culture references left right and center.

Louis didn’t really feel like talking about it, to be honest.

What was there to say? Kissing the person who had been your best friend since age six when you ate crayons together wasn’t a stimulating subject. Louis would rather have eaten crayons again. One of every color of the rainbow so he’d shit rainbows, maybe. He’d rather think about poop than face Stan.

But he missed him, was the trouble. Not seeing the person who had been your best friend since age six when you ate crayons together wasn’t stimulating in any way. Even stimulation isn’t stimulating when part of you is missing. 

So despite feeling like eating crayons, Louis was sitting with a finger hovering over his phone preparing to call Stan. He had been preparing for about half an hour. He was just going to gather his emotional strength, he told himself. Just a few more anxious thoughts. Just a few more minutes in the comfort of still not knowing that their friendship was ruined. Just a little more over-analyzing and being a dramatic pissbaby. That should help.

It didn’t help. Louis went outside, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag and pressed the button. As the signals went through he noticed the cigarette was wobbling in his hand because he was shaking so much. Good grief. It was only a kiss? 

“Hello?”

“Hi, um, it’s Louis.”

“I know. I can read, you know.”

Louis laughed nervously. “Of course, I know that, I just. Fuck, it’s normal to introduce yourself when you call someone, don’t be a dick.”

“I thought you liked dick.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stan sighed. “Whatever. What’s up?”

Louis’ mouth was so dry he could have used his tongue as a sponge. He swallowed. “You haven’t talked to me in like two weeks.”

“You haven’t talked to me either.”

“Um, well, that’s… true. I just… Is everything okay?”

“You know me better than to ask that. Unless you want an update on my father’s mental health or my own on-going issues I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

Louis cringed at himself in embarrassment and sucked his cigarette furiously. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I do want to know about those other things too, but this was actually about… You know… The last time we saw each other?”

“I assume you mean the fighting and… other things.”

Louis’ pulse was speeding. Because nicotine, surely. No other reason. “Yes.”

“I’d say that was okay.”

Louis felt his shoulders drop in relief. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”

“So we’re good?”

“We’re good.”

“Phew! Okay, listen, do you want to get together tomorrow night and catch up? I’ve missed you.”

“That sounds great. I missed you too.”

Louis felt like bouncing with happiness. “Awesome. I’ll text you after book club is over, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Louis hung up, put his headphones in and did a little victory dance while finishing his cigarette. Good. All right. He was good.

*

The next day Louis made sure he wouldn’t be late for book club. He and Niall walked there together, casually talking about things. When they reached the study room Liam was already there, engulfed in a conversation with Zayn that stopped the second Louis and Niall walked in. Zayn’s eyes darted from Liam to the boys to the table, but then he smiled and welcomed Louis and Niall to sit down. Louis was already dragging out a chair, so the offer seemed a bit unnecessary to him, but Zayn was a very polite person. Louis wished to continue talking to Niall, but found no words, so he just looked at his own hands until the door opened and Harry rushed in, just a minute before their starting time. His hair was mussed and his cheeks flushed pink as he smiled and panted, “Sorry I’m late”. 

“That’s quite alright, Harry,” Zayn said. “Do you need a minute to breathe or can we start?”

Harry shook his head fiercely. “Please start, I’m ready, I’m always ready.” Louis felt the left corner of his mouth curl in an involuntary smile. Always ready. All right. Good.

Zayn nodded. “So, The Catcher in the Rye. I’m sure you’ve all read this when you were younger, but I find rereading to be an important part of growing as a reader. What did you think?”

Liam scratched his cheekbone and said, “Rereading is important. But is there anything new to say about this book?”

Harry bit his lip and looked at Zayn, silently asking permission to speak. Zayn nodded and Harry said, “I think it’s an important book to reread, because when you read it as a teenager there’s a lot about it that you just relate to, and when you revisit it a few years later, you’ve learned stuff about yourself that you didn’t know then, and it’s just. It’s an experience.”

Louis hated to admit this, but Harry did have a point. “Yeah, it is. Like, I used to think that Holden seemed so cool and mystical in his eccentric ways, but then I grew up, and… He’s just a very messed up person.”

“Manic pixie dream boy,” Niall said.

There was a collective wave of soft laugher around the table. “Pretty much,” Louis said. “So, yeah, good to reread and move on from that interpretation.”

Harry nodded, but Zayn looked skeptical. “And what interpretation did you move on to, then?”

Louis swallowed to buy himself some time. “Well, when I was fifteen I didn’t really put it in a historical context, for example.”

Zayn nodded and Liam spoke up. “Yeah, when we read it now be don’t bat an eye at the slang used or the sexual things mentioned, but it was quite a scandal back then, and thinking about that you have too appreciate that it must have taken Salinger some boldness to write this.”

Harry rubbed his forehead and said, “Um, also, like, postmodernism? Is a thing? Like, Holden is all about individuality, and he says something about how people always think some things are all true, implying he doesn’t agree. Which fits with the postmodern idea of relativity, and, like, subjectivity.”

Zayn covered his upper lip with his lower in a closed mouth smile, and nodded. “That’s absolutely a valid interpretation, yes.”

Harry let out a breath. Niall made a questioning humming sound, though. “I don’t know. I mean, couldn’t you also say that the way he blatantly romanticizes childhood is very, you know, romanticism?”

“You can absolutely say that too,” Zayn said.

Encouraged, Niall continued. “I mean, the title of the book is about that very thing, how he wanted to catch children and save them from falling, you know? So it seems like a pretty strong theme.”

Harry was tapping his foot and Louis kicked him under the table to make him stop. “Sorry,” Harry whispered. 

“It’s fine,” Louis whispered back. 

Liam frowned at them and Louis huffed. Then he blurted out, “I just think it’s so annoying that it’s always the Catcher you talk about because Salinger’s other stuff is so much more interesting. Like about the Glass family. That was pretty cool.” 

Harry raised his head a little bit; like he was an animal catching a scent of something he was hunting, but sly so as not to alarm it. When spoke it was slow. “How they pop up in his collection of short stories is amazing. At first when I read some of it I didn’t realize it was them, and then I was like… Hold up for a second. Which is brilliant. A perfect day for banana fish, especially.”

Louis smacked the table with his hand. “Yes! Goddamn goddamn, that was so good.”

Liam snickered. “You sound like Holden.”

Louis stroked his fringe out of his face with an attitude. “I was going for Beyoncé, but thanks.”

Zayn smiled so wide his pointy corner teeth were showing. Maybe he was secretly a vampire, there to drain the intelligence out of Louis with his hotness. Louis sighed and drummed his fingers against the table. Niall shot him a wondering look. Louis shrugged in response.

“As much as I love a good conversation about Queen B, now is not the time. Let’s get back to the matter at hand, shall we? Can someone talk to me about how the first page of The Catcher draws you into Holden’s world? Liam?”

Liam straightened up, let his elbows rest on the arms of the chair and folded his hands together in front of him. “Okay. So, he immediately tells you that there are things to know, but he’s teasing by saying that he doesn’t feel like talking about it. That’s the thing, see, there’s an undefined ‘it’, and you turn the pages to find out what that is.” He leaned back again.

Harry smiled big with his mouth closed and shook his head. “You just know that Salinger had this whole world worked out before typing but he doesn’t tell you everything. Brilliant.”

“Keep it in your pants, Styles,” Niall said. Harry hit him with his copy of The Catcher.

Niall wiggled his finger at him. “You’re lucky that’s a paperback.” 

“Alright boys, simmer down.” Zayn sighed. “So, last time we talked about movies from books, so I thought we might touch that subject again. You do know what Salinger thought about that, right?”

Harry jerked upright and his face opened in a smile. “Yeah! That letter is one of my favorite things. He cares so much about that book and about Holden, it’s beautiful. Like he can’t stand the thought of it being brought to life in the wrong way.”

Liam huffed. “Weren’t you all for ‘all stories are equal’ last time?”

Harry just smiled. “I still am. I just mean that his passion for his work is beautiful. Enthusiasm is everything. I don’t perceive him as pretentious from that letter, just as very protective of his art. Which I respect.”

Louis nodded. “Besides, he does have a point about the narrative being difficult to bring to the movie screen, but if you look at how Fight Club did it I would say it’s possible.”

“Guys, you’re missing an important thing here,” Niall said. “He doesn’t care about the money he could make, but says that he might leave the rights to his family in case of economic hardships, which is a very anti-capitalist and solidary thing to do. And also, how he explains thoroughly to the director why the movie wouldn’t be satisfactory, like, he’s putting the integrity of his work over money. And I think that’s beautiful.”

Zayn looked skeptical. “That’s a fair point, Niall, but if you’re going to bring money into this it could do well to mention that Salinger came from a wealthy family and no one cares as little about money as the people who have it.” 

Niall looked stupefied. “Oh, right, I… didn’t think about that.”

This inspired Liam to go on and analyze from a biographical perspective, and that was not one of Louis’ favorite things. Instead of listening he watched Harry listening to Liam. Harry looked intently at Liam, but his brows were furrowed. Liam, on the other hand, only looked at Zayn. There might as well not have been anyone else in the room.

Not that Louis could blame him. Zayn looked particularly good today. Louis tried to pinpoint why but fell short. He had a jawline so sharp you wanted to touch it just to see if you’d bleed. He had eyes so beautiful you wanted to look into them until you lost yourself. He had a way of carrying himself that made you want him to carry you too. But none of these things were it. He just looked the way that hot chocolate makes you feel on a cold day. Like the way your body relaxes when you come home after a trip. The content after eating just the right amount of food. 

Louis sighed. He looked down on the table and saw his own words scribbled on it. It felt a bit like seeing an old photo of himself. He’d only done that a couple of weeks ago, but still. Turned out his strong feelings about Papa had been fleeting. Who knew. Zayn, probably. He seemed to have an intuitive understanding for life and literature that Louis lacked but desperately wanted.

He was interrupted in his thoughts by Zayn clapping his hands. He then declared that next time they would talk about The Bell Jar. Louis cringed a little. This book club was apparently not going to give him any new exciting stuff to read.

Louis realized that he sounded as grumpy as Holden and shimmied his shoulders as he stood up to try and shake the feeling. As he was packing up his things Harry came up to him.

“Do you want to go for tea?” He looked annoyingly happy.

Louis shook his head. “Sorry, I have plans with Stan.”

Harry’s smile faded. “Oh, okay. Have fun, then.”

“How about tomorrow, though? Or Friday?”

Harry nodded without changing his facial expression to a happier one. “Friday could work. Text me.”

And then he left. Louis had to wait a minute before he left to avoid the awkwardness of walking the same way as someone you’ve already said goodbye to. Not that he wanted to avoid Harry specifically. His Holden mood just wasn’t very appropriate for friendly conversation.

The mood was still present when Louis sat down opposite Stan, much like the last time they had seen each other. Louis had brought them both beers and Stan accepted his with a simple “thanks” but didn’t say anything else. The silence felt toxic; Louis attached his lips to his beer so as to have an excuse for not coming up with something great to say. He could feel Stan watching him as he took slow gulps. It made him very aware of his lips. When he physically couldn’t keep drinking any longer, he put it down and looked at Stan.

“So.”

Stan gave him a lopsided smile. “So?”

“So, how are you? Tell me things.”

“Okay. It’s not very fun, though.”

“I’ve known you since we were six, I think I can handle it even if it’s not rainbows and unicorns.”

Stan laughed quietly. “If only I could tell you a story from my life about unicorns.”

For some reason, Harry popped into Louis’ head. Harry probably would have made up a story about meeting a unicorn when he was in line to get ice cream at a theme park or something. Louis shook his head. Focus. Stan. His best friend. Louis smiled across the table. “Anyway. How is your dad doing?”

Stan leaned forward and rested his head on his fist. He talked into his hand and Louis had to struggle to make out what he said when he mumbled, “His suicidal tendencies are getting worse.”

Louis felt his stomach sink. He swallowed. “I’m so sorry.”

Stan leaned back again and started rubbing his thighs. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s obviously not, but he’s still in the hospital. They’ve started him on another medication. Could be a good thing.”

“Let’s hope so.” After ten years of talking to Stan about his father’s mental health issues, Louis still wasn’t sure how to handle it. How can you handle something like that? Louis didn’t want to accidentally say something disrespectful, but he also didn’t want to shy away from the topic. He figured that would be even more disrespectful. 

Stan smiled weakly. “Yeah, so that’s what’s up. Let’s not talk about it any more. How are you?”

Louis could have said a lot in reply to this question. He didn’t. He swept the fringe from his eyes, looked at Stan with a smile and said, “I’m good. Did you see the new episode of Community?”

They could talk about tv shows. They could have friendly arguments about music. They could talk about feelings. They couldn’t talk about books, because Stan read about one book every year and there was only so much Louis could say about 50 Shades of Grey. But they could talk. They could talk about anything because they had known each other forever.

Louis told this to himself as Stan walked with him to his door in silence. They hadn’t been drinking that much and Louis was still painfully aware of himself. The silence wasn’t weird, he told himself, because they were the oldest friends and everything was okay. Good. All right. They reached the doorstep and Louis turned around to say goodbye.

They could kiss again. Louis didn’t realize until it was happening. He could feel his own eyebrows raise in surprise. Stan’s lips were damp from beer and a little chilly. Louis could feel him hesitating, so he kissed back. It’s the polite thing to do when someone kisses you. He thought about the pressure of his lips, he made sure to find a rhythm, he even put his hand on the back of Stan’s neck before pulling away. No one could say Louis didn’t know the science of kissing.

Stan looked at him with wide eyes for a second. 

Louis turned on his heel and went inside.

*

Niall’s band were pretty good, actually. A bit too twee for Louis’ general taste in music but they knew their stuff, and from time to time Niall’s lyrics were surprisingly poignant. And to be perfectly honest – the fact that they were all hot didn’t hurt. 

Not that that was the reason Louis had invited himself to watch them rehearse. Absolutely not. And if he let his gaze linger on Luke’s sweaty upper lip or Ashton’s dimples, well, no one had to know. Louis was human. Human beings feel things. Science. Biology. Cute boys with plump lips near phallic objects. Real things that Louis were but a simple subject to. What could he do? 

Luke looked almost obscene pressing his lips against the microphone, singing, “you can be big, you can be small, I don’t care, I want it all”. Louis squirmed, digging his butt deeper into the ratty couch they kept in their rehearsal space. Not one of Niall’s best lyrics, he thought to himself. Michael’s jangly guitar riff was on point though. Harry would have liked it.

At the thought of Harry he remembered the book he’d brought with him. He had decided to give himself a break from assigned reading and read something just for fun. Maybe Bukowski’s Pulp hadn’t been the greatest choice, though. It seemed to be about death. Not Louis’ favorite topic. He nudged the book through the thin fabric his tote bag was made of, but didn’t pick it up. He tapped his fingers against it in time with the song the band was currently playing; a cover of Belle and Sebastian’s Wrapped Up In Books. 

“We had a fantasy affair, we didn’t get wet, we didn’t dare,” Luke and Niall sang in unison. Louis didn’t think it was really necessary for them to share a microphone, but they seemed pleased. He caught Niall looking at Luke’s lips more than once. Okay then. Michael sang along to the song’s chorus – “our aspirations, wrapped up in books, our inclinations, hidden in looks” – even though he didn’t have a microphone and blew his long, pink fringe out of his face. 

It was a cute song, they were all very cute, pink hair was cute, blowjob lips were cute, cute cute cute. Louis sighed. Too much cuteness can drive you crazy. It really can. Oh, damn it, he was in a Holden mood again. To rid himself of it he got out his phone, just for distraction. When he opened his inbox he remembered that he was supposed to text Harry. So he did, and they decided to have tea at Louis’ the next day. Louis closed his phone feeling like a good friend. Just look at him, setting up appointments to see his friend. He was good. He was all right.

When Louis and Niall walked home it had started to get cold outside. Louis pulled on his sweater, as if the friction would warm him up. Then, out of nowhere, he asked. “Is there something going on with you and Luke?”

Niall laughed. “I can see why you would think so, but no. I try to steer clear of internal friction in the band, you know? Besides… Harry.”

Louis felt unsure in his skin. “Harry what?”

“Harry and Luke… You know.”

“I… did not know.”

Niall crinkled his eyebrows. “Really? I thought you and Harry were so close, I assumed he’d tell you.”

Louis shrugged. “I guess we’re not.”

Niall placed a hand on Louis’ shoulder and squeezed it. “Listen, I would have told you, but it wasn’t really my thing to tell?”

Louis shook his hand off. “Relax, Niall, it’s not like it matters. Just weird to find out that a friend has been keeping something from you.”

“So, do you tell Harry everything?”

Louis looked down. “Well.” He tried to kick the ground, but the pavement caught his shoe and he almost fell over. He gathered himself and cleared his throat before continuing, “I guess I didn’t tell him about the Stan thing.”

“It’s a thing?”

“We… may have kissed again.”

Niall clicked his tongue. “Really.”

Louis rolled his eyes and boxed Niall’s arm. “It’s not a big deal, chill.”

“Your life is so dramatic.”

Louis recognized that glint in Niall’s eyes and wiggled his finger at him. “Don’t you dare write a song about me.”

Niall sighed. “Fine. But you could also stop having such a song writing worthy life.”

Louis thought about this as he lay in bed that night. A song writing worthy life. Was that the kind of life he lead? He didn’t think so. It might have been worthy of a pamphlet. Possibly an awkward amateur poem. He could rhyme pain with Zayn and Stan with man. Stan, you’re a wonderful man, but when I see Zayn, it makes me feel pain. Yes. That was his life. Niall, please don’t use my nail file, and be nice to Styles, he’s been through miles. Louis cringed and wished he could use an eraser on his mind to remove that from it forever. It didn’t even make sense. 

Definitely not a worthy life.

*

The next day saw Harry curled up on the couch in Louis’ and Niall’s apartment with his feet under a fleece blanket. Louis was sitting cross-legged at the other end of the couch, hugging a pillow. His mother had embroidered it for him with the words “you can do anything” and little flowers around. Louis wasn’t sure about the anything part, but he could do some things. 

After some casual chat about the weather and similar things, Louis took a deep breath. “So, Harold, when were you going to tell me you’ve been fucking my roommate’s band members?”

Harry blushed. “Now?” Louis just raised his eyebrows and waited for him to continue. “I just didn’t want to…” Harry bit his lip and went silent.

Louis put his tea down on a coaster and tried to make eye contact with Harry. “I’m just confused as to why you wouldn’t tell me. I thought we were friends.”

Harry took a gulp of his own tea and stared down into the cup. “We are.”

Louis made a questioning gesture with his hands. “So, what? Did you think I wanted to hit that, or..?”

Harry let out a nervous giggle. “Not really. Or, I mean, I don’t see how you wouldn’t find him attractive but… That wasn’t why.”

“Look, you don’t have to tell me, I guess it’s in the past, but in the future I don’t want you to feel like you can’t tell me things. Okay?”

Harry smiled. “Okay. And, you know, I’m sorry. I fucked up.” He licked his lips and looked apologetically at Louis, eyes wide and honest.

Louis met them for a second before looking away. “Yeah. But it’s fine.” He reached out for his tea again. 

It was almost cold but he drank it anyway.

*

As soon as Harry left, Louis removed his socks and swore not to wear any for the rest of the weekend.

Friday night he spent taking a long shower and then reading Bukowski. It was fun. As fun as grumpy boozed up old men with death anxiety can be. Every now and then Louis paused and savored the feeling of not having to take notes. He still underlined some things he liked, but still. As he put down his pencil he sighed and could feel his shoulders drop in relaxation. This was the life. 

On Saturday he exchanged his pajama pants for pajama shorts, fleece ones, and cuddled up under a blanket to watch The Sword in the Stone. It had been his favorite movie as a kid and it was a nice feeling, resting his mind in something he knew like the back of his hand. Just as Merlin and Arthur were being squirrels, Stan texted him. Asking if he wanted to do something. Louis shuffled under his blanket, feeling it caressing his skin, and replied that he had to study. He sent the text and then looked at it. It was a lie? Why was he lying to his best friend. Louis confused himself. He pulled the blanket closer and put his focus back on Merlin. 

When dinner time crept around he discovered that there wasn’t much food in the house and was dangerously close to having to leave, but it only took a little whine to convince Niall to pick up pizza for him. Pizza was also good and comforting. Like an edible hug, Louis mused. He spent the night finishing the book and went to sleep feeling accomplished and a little alone. You can always reread books, but you can only read them for the first time once.

On Sunday, Harry texted him and asked to meet up the next day. Maybe Louis had had enough of being a recluse. He agreed to meet Harry to have tea again. Always tea. As he was looking for the tea emoji, he realized he always had tea with Harry and beer with Stan. How did that happen? He caught himself trying to figure out what that could symbolize before he slapped himself. Life is not a novel, Louis, get a grip. He made a mental note to have beer with Harry some time soon. 

*

He was waiting for Harry and listening to The National. The wind made his fingers cold. Maybe it was time for mittens. Or maybe it was the guitar riffs that were cold. Yes, because that made sense. Good job, Louis. He rolled his eyes at himself and would probably have gone on to scold himself a bit more if Harry hadn’t appeared, panting and red-faced. “Sorry I’m late!” He got a grin on his face and added, “But if a boy looks swell when he meets you, who cares if he’s late?”

Louis would never admit it, but Harry did look swell. He had a pair of purple headphones resting on his collarbones, and his sheer black shirt revealed his butterfly tattoo and let you see where his skintight jeans hugged his hips. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “First of all, you don’t get to say that about yourself. Second of all, you’re not a manic pixie dream boy, stop quoting Salinger.”

Harry pushed his fringe out of his eyes. “First of all,” he said, mimicking Louis sarcastically, “you’re not the boss of me. Second of all, one of the most beautiful things in life is that you can use whatever art you like to make it meaningful.” He looked at Louis with challenge in his sparkling eyes. Louis found himself defeated by the look of genuine passion in them.

“Maybe you’re right,” was all he said. Harry beamed. 

They were back at the place with the doilies. It was cute, odd chairs and old furniture, but Louis found himself slightly annoyed at the noise level after his recluse weekend. It wasn’t even that loud, and he knew that. Still. People. Why.

Harry, however, seemed content with the environment. As he sat down with his tea he sighed happily. “I love cafés. I could imagine working in one. Seems nice.”

“Really?”

“I mean, not in this life, but in an alternate universe or something.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Abed, there are no other timelines.”

Harry looked him straight in the eye and replied, “I know I’m not Batman. You could try not being a jerk.”

Louis giggled and said, “I’m sorry. What do you think is happening in the other timelines?”

Harry lit up. “I feel like there’s definitely a universe where I play music instead of writing about it. Maybe there’s even a universe where I’m straight.”

“Ooh, the darkest timeline.”

Harry laughed. “Maybe. Wouldn’t be so dark if I got to be intimate with Ke$ha, though.”

“Ke$ha, huh?”

Harry flung his hands out. “She is a beautiful human and really talented, okay!”

“Have you heard the acoustic version of ‘Die Young’?”

Harry gave Louis an insulted look. “Have I heard it, he asks. “ He shook his head. “It’s only one of my favorite songs ever, but you know, whatever, yeah I guess I’ve heard it. Oh, that reminds me, I made you a cd!” He bent down and reached around in his bag under the table. “Ah! Here.” And he handed Louis a cd.

It was complete with a plastic case and a cover that looked like Harry had drawn it himself. There was a banana playing guitar surrounded by little glittery tunes and on the top it said “tunes for Lou”. 

Louis felt warm inside. “Why did you do this?”

Harry shrugged. “You usually ask me for music and I was bored one night. I admit I might have gotten carried away with the cover, but it was just fun. No big deal.”

“Well, I thank your boredom. This is lovely. Thank you so much.”

Harry smiled so big his dimples showed. “You’re welcome. I hope you like at least something.”

“I’m sure I will.” Louis took off his sweater and wrapped it around the cd before he put it in his bag. He shivered a little.

“Why did you take your clothes off if you were cold?”

“So the cd wouldn’t break, silly.”

Harry smiled. “Oh.” He was silent for a second before continuing, “So what’s your problem with Holden?”

Louis straightened up, then sighed. “Well. It’s just this… Thing. He’s such a teenager. And it remind me of me as a teenager, and I was pretty insufferable.”

Harry blinked at him. “Was?”

“Oh, shut up. I try. Anyway, it’s like, teenagers relate to him a lot, because he does that typical teenage thing where he alienates people because he’s scared and then judges them and thinks no one understands him, and I hate to be reminded that I was like that.”

“Was,” Harry said again, this time slow and pensive. 

“Was,” Louis confirmed.

Harry didn’t press the matter further.

On his way home Louis could feel his skin getting goose bumps when it brushed against the cool silk lining of his jacket. His teeth were almost rattling and he thought to himself, this cd better be good.

It was. Harry hadn’t included a track list so as to not ruin any surprises, and the first song was nothing other than Ke$ha’s deconstructed version of Die Young. _I hear your heart beat to the beat of the drums._ Louis was in his room, on his back on his bed. He thought that it had been too long since he listened to music without doing anything else at the same time. _Kiss me give me all you got._ Stan popped into Louis’ head. Somehow that felt inappropriate and he shook the thought out of his head.

The next song was also one he recognized: Take Care by Beach House. He sighed and rolled over to his side and grabbed a pillow to hug. This cd was apparently going to be a sad affair. Great. Thanks, Harry. Louis closed his eyes and imagined getting to take care of someone. It’s no good unless it’s true. He could feel his throat tightening. Apparently listening to music with so much focus wasn’t the best idea. He decided to write down each song as the cd went on, so as to have at least something to do. He got up, straightened his t-shirt and got his fancy notebook with thick paper. Might as well. 

The next few songs he had to Shazam to write down on his track list. Britta Persson – For The Steadiness. _‘Can I please run my fingers through your hair?’, I never asked and he never answered._ Allo Darlin’ – Kiss Your Lips. _Underneath the stars on the Ferris wheel, you swung your feet and sang my favorite Weezer song so I sang along; ‘I’m a lot like you so please, hello, I’m here, I’m waiting, oh I think I’d be good for you and you could be good for me’._ Makthaverskan – Something More. _Is it too much, is it too much to ask for something more?_ Jens Lekman – Maple Leaves. _If you don’t take my hand, I’ll lose my mind completely._

Louis did recall Harry had talked about Allo Darlin’ before. Niall would love them, he thought. If Louis was to be honest, though, it was a cute song. It really was.

As if Niall sensed Louis was thinking about him, he knocked on the door. Louis turned the music down and yelled, “come in!” Niall walked in and gave him a hug that smelled like sweaty flowers. One of Niall’s better features was that he refused to wear deodorants marketed to “men” and therefore smelled sweet instead of sharp. 

“Hi! What are you up to?” Niall asked as he released Louis from his embrace.

Louis nodded in the direction of his stereo. “Listening to a mix cd Harry gave me.”

“Really? How nice. I love mix cd’s. I haven’t made one for someone in a while, I should do that.”

“Yeah, it is nice. But if you do make one, please don’t include songs by your own band.”

Niall pretended to be offended. “I can’t believe this! One of my very best friends doesn’t like my band. What’s next, you’ll tell me my clothes are ugly?”

“Now that you mention it…” Niall made a “oh no you didn’t” face and pushed Louis down on the bed and started tickling him. Louis squealed. “I’m sorry – ahh! – I was kidding! Please stop! Iiiiihihi STOP! I love your style! And you band! Please let me go!”

Niall stopped tickling but he remained sitting on Louis, frozen as he listened to the song playing. When I look at you, heaven’s on fire. He pursed his lips in his thinking expression. Louis squirmed a bit. Niall might be a stereotypically skinny twee pop person, but his weight still put a bit of a strain on Louis’ abdomen.

“You know what,” Niall said, still sitting there.

“I don’t, but could you please tell me after you get off me? I’d like to breathe for a few more years.”

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He wrung himself off and took a seat at the foot end of the bed, folding his legs. Louis took a breath and sat up too, leaning against the wall under his Pulp poster.

“Well,” Niall continued, “that song sounded a lot like a love song.”

“So?”

“So what other songs are on there?”

Louis handed him the notebook open at the page where he had written them down. Niall’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay, a lot of these read like love songs. I’m not saying Harry’s trying to tell you something, but…”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh my god, Niall, stop tinhatting. They’re just good songs. I’m sure the lyrics don’t mean anything.”

Niall shrugged. “Maybe. Just saying. Besides, I think I’d ship you more with Harry than with Stan.”

Louis snorted. “I thought I told you, it’s weird for me when you talk about me as if I’m a character in a tv show and ‘ship’ me with my friends.”

Niall waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe you are in a tv show and you just don’t know it.”

“I’m not Truman.” 

Niall tilted his head and gave Louis a wicked smile.

Louis rolled his eyes. “Abed, there are no other timelines,” he said for the second time that day. Except this time he couldn’t keep from laughing and Niall laughed along with him and whichever song was playing had soft and happy guitars and his sweater was just the right amount of warm. 

He was good. He was all right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This](http://open.spotify.com/user/drickerte/playlist/2wEuz1Z2wgmj0bJswl3zR3) is Harry's playlist for Louis, in case you're interested! 
> 
> The "other timelines" thing is a reference to the tv show Community, in case you didn't know, and I highly recommend it if you haven't seen it.
> 
> Come yell at me on tumblr, I'm louisincake over there. :)


	3. The Bell Jar

Louis didn’t listen to anything other than Harry’s mix cd for two weeks. It was his constant soundtrack. Feeling he smoothness of soft Brie cheese in his mouth. _I like kissing my own lips. ___Smoking lonely cigarettes at night. _If I was to tell you that I wanna kill you._ Eating way too sugary cereal for breakfast and lunch and dinner. 

__Except Louis didn’t kiss anyone. He could have. A year ago he probably would have. He used to kiss anyone he could, always drunk and messy. Once he kissed a boy just minutes after he had thrown up in the toilet at a club. That earned him a slap in the face and being thrown out. But at least he knew he was alive. He stood outside the club, his jacket still in the closet inside, arms with goose bumps from the cold and cheek burning hot from the slap, and he definitely felt alive._ _

__That was then. Now was now, and apart from Stan, Harry, and Niall, Louis didn’t socialize much. Was this growing up? Or was he unconsciously making his life like one of those sitcoms where the characters only hang out with their closely-knit friend group?_ _

__The concept of reality was not lost on Louis. He was all too aware that his life wasn’t a sitcom. He clung to reality, afraid of getting lost in his own head, but he couldn’t always keep from narrating his life to himself. Sometimes the narration was literature style, sometimes it was in the form of a tv show voice over, and every now and then in the form of what could possibly be called poetry._ _

__The thing was, it always ended up making things seem even more real. Sadness can sound beautiful when it’s summed up in a short sentence, but in the end it just reminded him that life is not a short sentence. Not a book he could just put down if he was uncomfortable. Life was real and Louis was reeling._ _

__*_ _

__Stan slumped down on the sofa as soon as he’d gotten his shoes off. “So, what do you want to watch?”_ _

__Louis grinned. “Gatsby.”_ _

__Stan sighed. “Why am I friends with a book geek. I came for movie night, not boner for Fitzgerald night.”_ _

__Louis pretended to be offended. “You’re one to talk, boner for Leo DiCaprio.”_ _

__Stan smiled. “Well, you got me there.”_ _

__Louis clapped his hands once in triumph. “So it’s settled. Good talk.”_ _

__“But I am not participating in your nerdiness! I’m just going to enjoy looking at pretty things. That’s it.”_ _

__“Did you think I wasn’t?” Louis shook his head dramatically. “It’s like you don’t know me at all.”_ _

__Louis was feeling more upbeat than he had done all week. To be fair, the weekend always lifted his spirits. On the weekend you’re not expected to have your life together. For a night and a day you can just be. That was all Louis wished for. To be with friends.  
In the moment when he was sprawled on his couch, head on Stan’s lap, school and future didn’t exist. He was a bit worried about Gatsby – who definitely didn’t have a great grasp on reality – but he knew that his troubles would be over by the end of the movie. Louis hummed happily and Stan started playing with his hair._ _

__“Is this okay?” He asked._ _

__Louis nodded. “Mhm. ‘S good.”_ _

__He closed his eyes and let himself feel content. He smiled when he heard Lana del Rey from the tv set, and could feel his cheek move against the denim fabric on Stan’s thigh. Stan’s fingers were rubbing circles and other unnamed patterns into his scalp. Nice and safe and familiar. They had always been touchy with each other, to the point that when Louis came out to his family their first question had been if he was dating Stan. Louis giggled at the memory._ _

__“What’s so funny?”_ _

__“Just thinking about how my family thought we were dating. Can you imagine?”_ _

__Stan stopped moving his hands. “Oh, yeah, haha. Right.”_ _

__“Hey, why did you stop?”_ _

__“Sorry,” Stan mumbled, and started working his fingers into Louis’ hair again._ _

__Relaxed by the touching, Louis focused back on the movie and let himself be wrapped up in champagne glasses, expensive shirts, Jay Z, fast-moving images, and decadence. _You can’t repeat the past? Why, of course you can.__ _

__*_ _

__The downside to weekends is that they end. Sunday rolls around and you have to start thinking about the upcoming week, which without fail leads to thoughts about what you’re doing with your life, and sure, Louis was doing things, but he had no idea where they would take him. If anywhere._ _

__Sundays were not fun days._ _

__

__*_ _

__Louis really loved The Bell Jar, but even so he couldn’t seem to focus on discussing it. His thoughts fleeted from Zayn’s tweed jacket and how the fabric might feel under his hands when pulling him in for a kiss, to how Zayn’s apartment might look, did he have an office at home, maybe a small library, he’d have lots of books in any case, maybe even some first editions, and if Louis was his boyfriend he’d get to touch and smell and read them. Louis sighed._ _

__Niall shook his head. “It actually annoyed me a bit, like she’s this incredibly privileged person with an amazing opportunity to do something and she just goes on about how empty she feels. In the beginning, I mean.”_ _

__Liam glared at him. “Well, it’s not like depression takes privilege into account.” Harry looked down on the table where someone had written “I want JD to Sa-linger in my pants”. He giggled without meaning to. It wasn’t even funny._ _

__“She wrote hard and clear about what hurt,” Louis said._ _

__Harry looked amused. “Whatever you say, Papa.”_ _

__Louis felt his cheeks heat up. “Maybe we should negotiate our kinks before bringing them up before the entire group, _baby_.”_ _

__Harry blushed for real, and Louis really hoped his face wasn’t half as red. Harry opened his mouth, but before he could come up with a retort Zayn saved him with an “all right, boys, let’s keep this safe for work”._ _

__Louis’ concentration was definitely gone after that._ _

__“Hey.” Harry nudged his elbow when he was on his way out. “What’s up with you lately? You don’t talk as much as you used to.”_ _

__Louis shrugged. “I don’t know.” He did know, but he didn’t really want to talk about it. “Just off my game, I guess. Do you have any plans right now?”_ _

__Harry shook his head._ _

__Louis grinned. “Let’s get drunk.”_ _

__It had never occurred to Louis that Harry would be a beer enthusiast. He tried to talk to Louis about roasted hops and smokiness and Louis tried to look like he understood as he wiped some beer that had escaped his mouth from his chin._ _

__Harry laughed. “You don’t care, do you?”_ _

__“It’s not that I don’t care, exactly, it’s just that I prefer to think of beer as a mystical healing potion rather than a science.” He lifted his glass of bland lager and made a goofy face._ _

__Harry giggled. “I can respect that, I guess.” Then he saw that Louis was almost done already and tapped his bottle of craft IPA. “I guess I better switch to something lighter if I want to keep up with you.”_ _

__Louis chugged the rest of his beer before answering. “You really do. I am the king of beer and this is not how I play.”_ _

__Harry put his hand on his chest and acted offended. “Excuse you, but I think I am the king of beer here! You can’t even tell a dark lager from a porter, probably.”_ _

__“You have so much to learn, Styles,” Louis sighed. “Get a pint and I’ll show you how it’s done.”_ _

__Harry looked mildly skeptical, but got up to follow Louis’ advice. “One for me, too!” Louis shouted after him. Harry just waved over his shoulder._ _

__“So, this is how it goes,” Louis said, pulling his new glass closer. “You say ‘I’m the king of beer and I drink for the first time’, and then you take one gulp.”_ _

__Harry cocked his eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem hard to get that title.”_ _

__“I’m not done! You do that, and then you tap one finger from each hand on the table, like so,” and Louis demonstrated, “both over and under it, and then,” he moved to do the same to his cheeks, “the same on your face.” Harry watched his fingers intently. “Then you say ‘I’m the king of beer and I drink for the second time’, and you take two gulps, and repeat the process with two fingers. And it goes like that until you run out of fingers.”_ _

__“Is that all?”_ _

__“You have to do it fast. First one to take the whole hand wins. Oh, and if you mess up, like tap too many times, or too few, you also lose and I am the king.”_ _

__Harry raised his eyebrows. “All right.” He took a sip of his beer. “Okay, I’m ready to take you and your fingers on.”_ _

__He grabbed his glass and looked Harry in the eye. “Ready? One, two, three–“_ _

__*_ _

__Louis woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Literally, he was on the floor. His hip hurt awfully from having been on the floor and his neck was in a state. He tried to lick his dry lips but the only thing that accomplished was getting a taste of yesterday’s beer. Maybe fancy IPA’s taste better the day after, he thought bitterly. At least he’d shown Harry who was the king of beer. Louis was pretty sure it was him._ _

__It took him about twice as long as usual to get to the kitchen to make tea, and just when he had put the kettle on his phone rang. There was no chance he’d answer that. It was in the other room and that was far away and tea was important and close._ _

__When Louis had made tea and toast and finally got in his actual bed, he had three missed calls from Stan. Sighing he pressed the call back button._ _

__“What do you want?”_ _

__“I wasn’t aware I needed a reason to talk to my best friend.”_ _

__“When I’m hung over, you kinda do.”_ _

__“Hung over?” Stan sounded surprised._ _

__“This may shock you, but I am capable of getting drunk with people who aren’t you.”_ _

__“Geez, calm down, I know that. I was going to ask to come over, but now I don’t know if I want to,” Stan said half-jokingly._ _

__“Oh no, oh please!” Louis stumbled over his words. “You could bring pizza and pepsi with you! Please? You know I love you.”_ _

__Stan laughed. “That I can. But only because I love you.”_ _

__“Yes! I knew I kept you around for a reason.”_ _

__Since pizza was on its way, Louis left his toast and just sipped his tea. How great it was to have friends._ _

__They were three fourths into Mean Girls – Louis’ favourite hangover movie – and almost done with the pizza when Stan spoke._ _

__“So,” he said._ _

__Louis turned his head from “girl world” and said, “so?”_ _

__“I actually wanted to come over to, um, talk to you about something.”_ _

__Louis waited for Stan to tell him whatever it was, but he didn’t, so he said, “and what was that?”_ _

__Stan tapped his leg and looked away. “Well, um… This is awkward. But I sort of… Look, I know we’re best friends since forever, but the thing is that, I sort of…” Louis knew what was coming, he could feel everything cracking under him, but it still hit him like a tidal wave when Stan finished: “…like you.”_ _

__There was no need to ask him to specify. It was perfectly clear what Stan meant. He liked Louis. Louis folded his lips almost entirely into his mouth and pressed them together so hard it hurt. He loved Stan so, so much. Just not in the right way, apparently._ _

__“Stan,” he said finally. His voice was quiet and apologetic and Stan didn’t stay to hear the rest._ _

__“You don’t have to say anything,” he said as he stomped into his shoes without tying the laces. “Just. Let me be for a while, okay? This was stupid. Okay, bye.”_ _

__And Louis was left with pizza crumbs on his t-shirt, One Way or Another playing from the movie, and a sofa still warm from where his best friend Stan had been sitting until a few moments ago._ _

__What the hell just happened?_ _

__*_ _

__“You did start kissing him,” Niall pointed out with annoying accuracy._ _

__Louis flung his arms out in frustration. “It was only a kiss! How did it end up like this?”_ _

__Niall chuckled. “Easy, Mr Brightside, it wasn’t just one kiss, and sometimes fooling around with friends doesn’t go well. It’s the risk that you take.”_ _

__“Oh, stop sounding like you know everything, just because your life is easy and drama-free.”_ _

__He sighed and went to pat Louis’ shoulder. “Sorry, mate, I’m just trying to help.”_ _

__Louis groaned. “I know,” he said, and stepped closer to Niall. “Hug me please?” And Niall folded his calm arms around him. “This situation just can’t be helped,” Louis murmured into Niall’s shoulder. Niall stroked his back._ _

__*_ _

__Harry wasn’t his usual self when they had tea on Friday. He kept tapping the cup with his nails, causing a clinking sound. Since when did Harry have long enough nails to clink? When Harry sighed for the tenth time in the same amount of minutes Louis had enough._ _

__“All right, what’s going on? You seem off.”_ _

__Harry stilled his fingers and looked at the table. Weird. “Well, I have decided to drop out of school.”_ _

__Louis felt as if the entire school had been dropped on his head. Which was probably a lot more than a ton of bricks. “Why?” seemed like an appropriate enough question._ _

__“I don’t know what good it is to know so much and be smart as whips and all if it doesn’t make you happy.”_ _

__This was familiar ground. At least some things were like Louis knew them. He felt a little less unsure and arranged his face into nonchalance. “You’re dropping out based on a Salinger quote?”_ _

__Harry spun his cup of tea between his hands. “No,” he said in a short tone, “I’m dropping out based on actual reasons and Salinger just phrased those reasons better than I could.” He sighed and looked away into nothing._ _

__“Hey.” The sarcasm was gone from Louis’ voice. “Don’t underestimate your own ability to phrase things.”_ _

__Harry looked back at him and smiled with his mouth. “Thanks, I guess.”_ _

__“You don’t have to if you don’t want, but would you care to tell me your reasons then?”_ _

__Sigh. “I just. I just want to write.”_ _

__“You music stuff?”_ _

__“And other things. Maybe. I don’t know. I just feel like school is draining me of all creativity and takes up time I could spend writing. You know?”_ _

__Louis nodded. “I guess that makes sense.” In second thought he added, “And I bet Salinger would approve. He seemed like a dropout kind of person.”_ _

__Harry giggled and the room seemed that much easier to breathe in. “He was, babe. Maybe I’ll follow his example and go into writing hibernation for decades.”_ _

__Louis looked down on his hands. His nail beds were dry and torn. “Why not.”_ _

__When Louis looked up again, Harry’s face was serious. “But I’d probably miss my friends too much. If that even matters.”_ _

__If it mattered? This conversation was too confusing and emotional and Louis just wanted it to end. “Well, I’ll be fine,” he chirped. “I have Rimbaud to keep me company.” Wow, that really didn’t come out as carefree as he wanted it to._ _

__Harry looked at him with soft eyes. “You will be fine. Friends come and go, but art is forever.”_ _

__Louis laughed bitterly. “I guess. Also, you sound a bit unreal when you say things like that.”_ _

__Harry frowned. “Is that good or bad?”_ _

__“Reality sucks, so I’d say it’s a good thing.”_ _

__Harry reached out to Louis and stroked his shoulder. “I’m sorry things suck.”_ _

__His hand burned Louis’ skin through his jumper and no, Louis needed to go. Louis shrugged it off and got out of his chair. “I have to go,” he said. “Say goodbye before you leave?”_ _

__Harry looked confused, but nodded. “Of course.”_ _

__Louis hurried out, getting his jacket on as he went, and was several hundred meters from the café before he managed to untangle his headphones and get his ipod started. It had stopped playing in the middle of “The Catcher in the Rye” by Azure Blue. Louis pressed play. _I said I’d be the catcher in the rye for you, but that was just a lie._ For a few self-pitying seconds Louis thought that yeah, this was befitting the situation, but then he realised that no one had promised him anything. Nothing at all._ _

__

__*_ _

__When Sunday rolled around Louis had consumed approximately every pint of beer within a three-mile radius and was feeling accordingly. Harry showing up at their flat with bags in his hands and accompanied by his mother did not make him feel any better, but it also couldn’t possibly make him feel any worse. The blessing of a bad hangover – being too exhausted to feel anything other than your body trying to heal itself. He tried to not let Harry’s mum know how hung over he was while making small talk, hugged Harry goodbye and watched them drive away, and felt nothing but nausea._ _

__Louis crept into bed again and tried to not move too fast and get dizzy. When finally in place under the covers he closed his eyes. Harry had left. Stan wasn’t talking to him. Niall had never come home from band practice the night before. But none of that mattered, because all he needed was some water._ _

__That was all._ _


	4. A Season In Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this chapter I highly recommend that you listen to two songs by Dum Dum Girls: [Rimbaud Eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QDYRQX6FPQQ) and [Season In Hell](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6GPvbcOKTOw).
> 
> Also, warning for lots of alcohol.

_Once, if I remember well, my life was a feast where all hearts opened and all wines flowed._

*

When Louis finally opened A Season in Hell he felt like he’d been punched in the face. He read on, breathless, too fast, and had to go back and reread, so hungry for the experience that it threatened to pass by him. Not everything made sense to him, but the things that did made a crystal clear sense he didn’t even know he had.

He went to sleep with a storm inside.

Waking up, however, was less poetic. It was Monday and Stan was gone and Harry had left and Niall was probably at a lecture but Louis couldn’t be bothered. He opened his and Stan’s text conversation. The last they had texted was gun emojis. (Stan had recently seen Pulp Fiction and was a bit obsessed. Louis mostly liked the gun emoji.) Louis looked at the keyboard on his phone, imagining words to form, toying with the idea of texting about something, anything, and pretending everything was normal, but how could he. It all seemed so utterly pointless.

He made himself a cup of tea and opened A Season in Hell again.

When Niall came home and put the kettle on, Louis was still in his pyjamas, i.e. nothing but boxers. “Could you make me some tea, please?” he called from the couch where he was lazily half-sitting with the book laid open over his tummy. He’d put it down during his third read-through and was watching cooking shows to give his intellect and emotions a break.

“I was already planning on it,” Niall said. Louis gave him thumbs up.

“You’re a good man!”

“Don’t I know it,” Niall smiled. “Why weren’t you at uni today? You don’t look sick.”

“Oh, thanks mate,” Louis said sarcastically. “Didn’t feel like it, is all.”

“It’s got nothing to do with Stan or Harry, of course?” Niall looked knowingly at Louis.

“I’m a strong independent woman, Niall, I don’t need a man in my life.”

Niall turned his back to Louis while making the tea, but Louis strongly suspected he was grinning. “Anyway,” Niall said while making room for himself on the sofa beside Louis, “have you listened to Dum Dum Girls?”

Louis thought for a second. “Um, yeah, I think they were on the cd Harry gave me. Why?”

Niall made a smug face and blew on his tea before taking a sip while Louis waited for him to respond. “I think you’d really appreciate the song Rimbaud Eyes.”

Of course he did.

*

_Science, the new nobility! Progress. The world marches on. Why shouldn’t it turn?_

*

The first he heard from Harry was the night before book club. Louis hadn’t texted, and maybe that was him being a bad friend, but he didn’t see any reason to. Harry had left his old life behind. A life that was the only context in which he knew Louis. By all reasonable logic that meant that Louis should stay away. Wasn’t that usually the way his friendships went?

He hadn’t heard from Stan.

Louis was on his bed with his laptop on his thighs, looking through his music library for a song to fit his mood and failing to find any, when his phone buzzed and Harry's name lit up the screen.

 **I hope you’ll miss me in book club. Blinking tongue out-emoji.**

Louis smiled as he typed his response.

**_Absolutely. How can I discuss literature with Liam Payne and keep my dignity? Impossible._ **

**Lol. I’m doing fine, by the way, thanks for asking! All ready to start a new life. Bomb emoji.**

**_Is that bomb you blowing up your old life?_**

**Yeahhh! Btw, I can’t believe you said that without making a joke about other kinds of blowing. Are you okay?**

Louis stared at the screen. What? His heart sank lower and lower into the ground as he reread the words. He had given no sign of not being okay and yet here Harry was, asking him if he was okay. What does ‘being okay’ even mean? He was neither crying nor in foetal position on the floor. Surely that must count as some kind of okay. Louis read the text again and it dawned on him that it was probably just banter. He was okay and him and Harry were just joking. Fine. All right.

Finally, he replied with a row of peach and banana emojis. Harry didn’t respond to that.

*

_Life is the farce we all have to lead._

 

*

Louis didn’t go to book club.

He knew skipping out would make him feel worse, just like the skipped lectures the past days had made him feel worse, but he didn’t go. He got into bed and curled into a ball and tried to sleep, but ended up just drifting between different levels of consciousness, always aware that he should be somewhere else. When he finally fell asleep at three am, he dreamt that he was on a deserted island and Zayn tried to sail to rescue him, but the boat was drunk, so it couldn’t keep its course.

*

_This inspiration proves that I have dreamed!_

*

The next day he invited himself to Niall’s band practice. He refused to become a recluse just because his best friend didn’t speak to him and his other friend had left. Niall was happy to have him along, (“as long as you don’t roll your eyes at us again”) and Louis felt a bit better. Not going to school always made him feel like shit, but here he was, doing a thing, so surely he was okay and would be back to doing fine in no time. Completely fine.

After the rehearsal they went out for a drink. As you do. Luke had a cocktail and sipped it from a straw while glancing at Michael. Michael, however, wanted to talk to Niall about some lyrics.

“So you know Dum Dum Girls’ Too True To Be Good? We need to come up with something brilliant like that, Ni, I’m telling you.”

Niall chewed his lip. “I agree, that would be great, but brilliance doesn’t just come on command now, does it?”

“On the contrary,” Louis interrupted, “I have been known to come on command on several occasions.”

The other boys went silent and Calum just gaped at him. Oops. Too far? Possibly too far. But then, after a few seconds of stunned silence, Niall started laughing and the others followed.

“For fuck’s sake, we were trying to be serious,” he grunted between chuckles. “And for the record, you are not brilliance.”

Louis could have went along with the banter, but instead he turned to Calum. “Fancy a tequila?”

Calum beamed at him. “Oh, absolutely.”

They licked their hands, threw back the bitter medicine, and as they sucked on their lemons Louis decided to fuck everything. Literally fuck everything. He let go of his lemon with a smacking sound and made eye contact with Calum. With a flick of his wrist he just dropped the remains of the fruit on the floor and put his hand on Calum’s arm. 

“We’ve never really talked, you know. I think we should do that now. Wow, do you work out?”

Louis knew he was being grossly clichéd but he felt the occasion deserved it. Calum just blushed and shook his head. Louis let his hand slide down Calum’s arm a bit before removing it. “Well, that bicep tells another story, my friend,” he smiled. “Shall we go sit down?”

Louis pretended not to notice Niall’s disapproving glance as he fetched Calum a drink and brought it to a table that he’d chosen deliberately because it only seated two. Niall could judge all he wanted. Maybe write a song about it, Louis thought sarcastically. See if he cared.

Calum was actually very sweet. Of course he was. He was the bass player in a twee pop band, how could he not be? Louis listened to him wax poetic about how much he loved his family and sometimes missed the easiness in enjoying music as a child, without pretence, and all kinds of things. Tequila made Calum more prone to love than to sex, apparently. Maybe this was a bad idea. Of course it is, Louis heard Niall’s voice in his head. He shook it away and then smiled brightly at Calum who looked slightly confused at Louis’ sudden movement.

“Sorry, love,” Louis said. “Just had some thoughts I needed to get rid of. Would you like another drink?”

About four drinks later Louis was feeling so good. He was hot, his belly warm inside and his cheeks flushed. Calum’s face had also taken on a lovely shade of pink.

They had moved from the bar area with seating to the dance floor in the basement. They danced, glanced at each other, looked away, tried to not look like they were trying to be sexy. The usual. Louis could feel his pulse in his head, slightly off the rhythm of the song, and relaxed into the knowledge that he was well drunk. There was only there and then and sweat and a boy glancing at him from under a damp and tousled fringe. He didn’t know where Niall and the other summers were. Neither did he care.

Louis moved closer to Calum. I shouldn’t do this, he thought. He was so close now that he could feel Calum radiating body heat. Calum looked at Louis and held his breath. Louis leaned closer and opened his mouth slightly and there was Calum’s mouth, there was his tongue, tasting like cigarettes and alcohol, there was Louis’ hands on Calum’s waist, there was sweaty fabric and ragged breaths, and it was all wrong. The pulse in Louis’ head beat louder and louder. Pretending he didn’t hear it, Louis laid more feeling into the kiss. I can do this, he thought, look at me doing this.

Then, hand on shoulder, Calum backing away, and he wasn’t doing it any more.

“What the fuck?” Ah. Niall.

Louis grinned. “Oh, Niall. I’m just getting to know your lovely bandmate a bit better.”

Niall shook his head. “Get out. Now.”

“Um,” Calum spoke up, “me or him?”

Niall’s face softened when he turned to Calum. “No, you’re good, we’ll talk later. It’s Louis who needs to get a grip.”

“A grip of my ass,” Calum muttered under his breath. Louis smiled awkwardly at him and Niall looked a bit concerned. “Er, yeah, we’ll talk later. Louis, outside, now.”

It was cold outside. Louis was only in his sweaty t-shirt and the dampness made him shiver. He rubbed his arms with his hands to stay warmer. Apparently he wasn’t drunk enough for this.

Niall looked so disappointed in him. “Louis,” he said with more sadness than anger. “Why are you doing this?”

Louis felt guilt bubble in him. Or maybe the tequila. He looked at Niall’s feet when he said, “Um, just trying to have fun I guess.”

“Please. I know you’re not a twat. You wouldn’t play Calum like that just for fun.”

“I wasn’t playing him.” Said the guy who flirted by complimenting biceps. Louis felt like shit, so he acted like shit, and he really didn’t care.

He looked up and Niall’s face was stern again. “If you’re going to keep giving me bullshit I really don’t want to talk to you.”

Louis swallowed to buy himself some time. “Fine.”

Niall sighed. “We’ll do this sober, yeah?”

Louis nodded weakly. Then, Niall was gone.

*

_And that poison, that kiss, a thousand times accursed! My weakness, the cruelty of the world! My God, pity, hide me, I behave too badly! –– I am hidden and I am not._

 

*

Louis didn’t go back in for his jacket. He knew he should have, but on some level he felt like he should freeze. Like it made sense. Like he deserved it.

As he started walking away, he reached into his pocket for his phone and with trembling fingers he called Harry.

“Did you ever read Rimbaud?”

“Hi, Louis. You know, most people begin phone calls with saying hello.”

“Hello, hi, how are you, whatever. Did you?”

Harry giggled. “Rimbaud? Yeah, I did.”

Louis stopped walking. “And?”

“I don’t know if it was my thing. The racial slurs made it less enjoyable for me.”

Louis put his free hand on the hand that was holding the phone, as if to steady it. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t really know why he had called. When Louis didn’t speak, Harry continued: “did you enjoy it?”

Louis swallowed. Yes? Maybe. “I don’t know,” he settled on. “I’m drunk.”

Harry laughed. “As should I be.”

“So why aren’t you?” Louis inquired, walking slowly away from the club with no destination, still holding his phone to his ear with both hands. Harry made a noncommittal ‘meh’ sound. “I’m at my nan’s, and starting my life over and everything, so I guess I’m being constructive or something.”

“Or something,” Louis echoed.

When they hung up Harry asked Louis to be safe. Safe. Yeah. Right. As if safety is a real thing and not just an illusion humans entertain to be able to handle life.

Louis steered his steps toward a 7-Eleven and bought a bottle of wine. The man behind the counter clearly judged him when he fumbled drunkenly with his wallet to pay for the absolute shittiest white wine they had. Possibly there was another version of Louis that cared, Louis could imagine himself caring about being judged for being pathetic, intoxicated, and alone, but here and now Louis just wanted his goddamn wine. Grace and dignity be damned.

He planted his ass on the sidewalk right outside and raised the wine bottle to his lips. The man could possible still see him from inside. Louis considered moving but couldn’t bring himself to stand up again. He could feel the acids from the wine burning in his empty stomach. Good.

*

_I laid myself down in the mud._

 

*

The good thing about being so hung over you can’t move is that you have no energy to feel sad. The nausea is everything. Very meditative. 

Louis folded a towel to put on the bathroom floor and use as a pillow. He breathed slowly so as to not upset his stomach, felt the cold floor against his shoulder blades, and thought: when I feel better, I’m going to feel so much better.

*

_Ah! My lungs are on fire, my temples roar! In this sunlight night rolls through my eyes: Heart… Limbs…_

*

It was Saturday and Louis hadn’t been to a single lecture all week. He thought it might be best to do some actual studying, in case his slump passed soon and future!Louis started hating him for being a useless piece of shit. Present!Louis took several deep breaths, told himself that he could do it, he hadn’t missed that much, it would be fine.

He almost believed it until he had sat down in the library and made a list of the assignments he needed to do. The list was too damn long. For a minute he just looked at it. Then the words started to swirl around, so he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands with his elbows against the table. Fuck everything. Literally fuck everything. Harry would have told him to just do one at a time, maybe make a list of the things he had done instead of the things he hadn’t, but Harry wasn’t there. Niall would have tried to write a poem about it.

Louis knew he had to do it, he just couldn’t bring himself to. He had taken to doodling on the list (teacups, bananas, pints) when the chair next to him scraped against the floor as it was being pulled out. Louis looked up, slightly annoyed at being disturbed in his not-studying.

It was Zayn. Oh. Louis’ annoyance washed away at the blink of a brown beautiful Zayn eye.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” It wasn’t really a question, but the illusion of having an option was nice. Louis wouldn’t have minded either way, to be fair. Zayn could take a seat on him and he would be totally okay with that. The thought made him squirm on his seat. Don’t get hard in the library, he told himself sternly. As if that hadn’t happened before.

“Um, no, of course. Is there something wrong, professor?”

Zayn sat down and smiled one of his gentle smiles. “I was going to ask you the same, actually.”

Louis froze. Right. He skipped out on book club. “What do you mean?” 

“You didn’t come to discuss Rimbaud with us,” Zayn said slowly. “Were you ill?” Louis swallowed. Before he could decide if he should lie or not, Zayn continued: “You haven’t been going to your lectures, either. Did you have a cold or something?”

His eyes told Louis he knew there was no cold, so Louis decided to tell the truth. “Not exactly, sir.”

Zayn nodded tentatively. “So, what’s wrong? You wouldn’t ditch me and Rimbaud for just anything, I reckon.” Louis hesitated. “I do have teacher-student confidentiality laws on me, so whatever you want to tell me stays between us. Unless you’ve been cooking meth or something, in which case there are other laws I have to abide by.” And he smiled crookedly at Louis.

Louis smiled half-heartedly, then sighed. “It’s just been a rough week, is all. And I don’t even know what I’m doing with my degree, if I ever get it, and with Harry dropping out and everything, it’s just… Been a bit much.”

Zayn leaned forward and put a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “That does sound like much. Do you have someone to talk to?”

No, my flatmate and best friend hates me a bit because I fooled around with his sweet bandmate. “Yeah, I do have other friends. I’ll be fine.” He smiled with his lips pressed tightly together. “Thanks for looking out for me, though.”

“Of course.” Zayn patted Louis’ shoulder before letting go and standing up. “You know where to find me if you need, though, yeah?”

Louis nodded. “Thanks. I know this probably isn’t in your job description.”

“If I only did things that were part of my job description I would lead a very sad life,” Zayn smiled. Louis huffed a little laugh. “I really have to get going now, but my door truly is open. Just so you know.”

“I know. And I appreciate it.”

Louis watched Zayn walk away with quiet library steps. He moved his body with perfect control, careful not to disturb the books, and his nice slacks were hanging off his hips just so. Don’t get hard in the library, Louis. Do not. It’s not becoming. Shit, don’t think about coming. 

Zayn took a turn around a bookcase and was out of sight. Thank God. 

Louis looked up Rimbaud’s life story on Wikipedia. That could be construed as studying in a broader sense of the word, he reasoned. Apparently Rimbaud was a successful student. And wrote all of his poetry before the age of 21. How rude of him to make history at an age where Louis couldn’t even make soup. Rimbaud also ran away from home several times, was a homewrecker, gay, did lots of drugs. Intense. Very poetry-like.

Louis didn’t know whether to feel better or worse about his own life, knowing this. He opened his personal notebook and wrote with a red pen, “at least I’m not breaking up any marriages”. In ink it looked very pathetic and not at all as encouraging as it had sounded in his head. How did his life come to this? Just two weeks ago he was fine. So fine.

Frustrated, he turned the page to find something more positive from when he was okay. The words “enjoyably textured legs” met him, accompanied with a doodle of a pair of green eyes. What the hell, past!Louis?

He concluded his unsuccessful study session and bought a giant bag of crisps on the way home.

*

_Yes, my eyes are closed to your light._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All quotes in italics are from Rimbaud's A Season In Hell. 
> 
> I know this was short, there's more to come soon!


	5. The Uncensored Picture of Dorian Gray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilde is on Louis' side. Probably.

Louis could totally pick his shit up and pull himself together. 

Just because your best friend isn’t talking to you and another one leaves doesn’t mean the end of the world, he said sternly to himself. “The end of the world is bigger than love,” Jens Lekman crooned from his stereo. 

Granted, this wasn’t love, so maybe it was the end of the world after all.

Louis was on his stomach, holding himself up on his elbows, trying to read Dorian Gray, but his mind kept coming back to what Harry was doing. Book club would be weird without him.

Instead of reading, he found himself spending fifteen minutes to write a text that sounded friendly but not desperate. He wanted to say “please talk to me, tell me everything about your life, I need to know”. He didn’t say that.

**_Hey man, how’s the Salinger life working out for you? We’re reading the uncensored version of Dorian Gray, extra gay and all. It’s brilliant._ **

That was good, right? It didn’t convey that he was a lump of sad, it was light and hopefully inviting to conversation. Louis opened the book again but had to reread every other sentence because his mind was elsewhere. After ten minutes his phone buzzed and Louis jerked upright. Jeez.

**Haha, it’s not a Salinger life, not yet anyway. It’s a bit quiet but I did write some stuff! Ah, Dorian, what a lad. Is the uncensored very different? ☺**

Louis typed his response quickly, as if Harry would lose interest if he waited.

**_I’m pretty sure the word ‘romance’ from Basil to Dorian wasn’t in the original lmao. Lippincott’s were probably like “too gay to function” ^^_ **

Harry’s reply came almost instantly. 

**Too bad they didn’t have the term bromance back then ;)**

Right. Bromance. Naturally.

Who reads Dorian Gray in November, anyway? It’s too cold for flowers and enjoyable decadence. Dorian’s everlasting youth and beauty highlighted the decay of all growing things far too well.

Louis threw the book across the room and hid under his floral bed sheets.

*

After the Calum fiasco the other week, Louis had carefully avoided Niall when at home. But when he took a piss in the kitchen sink so he wouldn’t have to meet Niall on the way out of the shower, he decided it was time to face the music.

“Niall?” Louis didn’t mean for his voice to come out as frail as it did. He sounded small. Fuck.

Niall looked up from his notebook, distracted. “Yeah?”

Louis looked at him, scared. “Are you cross?”

Niall shook his head, but he looked serious still. Louis didn’t feel as relieved as he should have upon hearing that answer. Or rather seeing it. “You did a bad thing, but I’m not mad at you. You had your reasons.”

Louis winced. “What does that mean? I had my reasons? Are you playing therapist with me?”

“Okay, let me rephrase,” Niall sighed. “You know you fucked up, so I don’t see any use in punishing you. It wasn’t that bad, it was just unnecessary and could have caused drama. God knows the band doesn’t need any more stress before our gig.”

“Right.” Louis had forgotten about that. What a great friend he was. Niall should be cross with him. Why wasn’t he?

*

Louis was in a lecture when his phone buzzed with a text. Stan flicked through his mind, but it was Harry.

**So, do you think Wilde is on your side?**

Louis smiled at his phone. He typed out, “are you listening to The Smiths and wanking, you music critic cliché?” but he rethought teasing – since when did he not tease at any given opportunity? – and simply said yes. 

**_Oh, he definitely is._ **

The answer came immediately. 

**He’s on mine too.**

Louis typed out his next text without allowing himself to think about it.

**_If I lived in Victorian times and was around Oscar I would absolutely have let him fuck me._ **

So much for leaving the wanking part out. Heart beating wildly, he tried to look like he was paying attention. What was he doing? When Harry’s response came he almost didn’t dare look.

**That would have been the best timeline.**

Truth be told, Louis wouldn’t have let Oscar fuck him. Probably. A bit iffy with the prostitutes and such, however decadent that may sound in hindsight. But it seemed to him like a fun thing to say, so he said it. 

Who needs the truth when you can have fun?

*

Louis couldn’t help but feel sad upon reading what had been cut from Oscar’s original text. It wasn’t explicit by any means, by today’s standards, but in a time where being gay was literally illegal… ”Gross indecency”. That’s what Oscar had been charged with and Louis was so hung up on that wording. Gross. The law, that’s supposed to protect you, literally called his love and sex disgusting. Indecent. 

Louis remembered realising he was attracted to men and feeling his stomach turn in fear and his heart grow light with relief at the same time. It was legal, but there was nothing to say that it would be easy. ”I accept gay people,” straight people say, but there is no acceptance in that statement. So Louis toned down his camp manners and kept quiet and sucked Stan off as a joke to make sure. 

”With some practice you could get really good at that,” Stan had said. 

”I think I will,” had been Louis’ response. 

Louis thought of Dorian desperately grabbing for straight romance. If Louis had taken that route, where would he be now? Maybe that was a thought better not explored.

”Somehow I have never loved a woman.” Me too, Basil, Louis thought. Me too. There was ”love in every line” of Basil’s painting of Gray. "I have worshipped you with far more romance of feeling than a man should ever give to a friend”… Louis stared at the words and felt his heart sink. He missed Stan. Louis started tapping the page, feeling jittery.

He needed to do something.

*

The book club was strange without Harry, just like Louis had feared. Really strange. Niall talked a lot, about how it’s evident that only the upper classes were allowed to exist in a cultural sphere, and how those tendencies can still be seen today. Zayn nodded in agreement, seemingly pleased with Niall’s analysis. Louis huffed.

“Excuse me, I don’t know if you know, but Oscar Wilde was known to have sex with boys from any and every level of society.”

Zayn choked in surprise. “I,” he cleared his throat, “I hardly think that’s relevant to his literature, Louis,” he said, and Louis should have taken that criticism to heart, but he got stuck on the softness with which Zayn said his name. Like it was a warm breeze in a rose garden.

“I think,” Liam said, “that it was just easier for him to write the rich because he didn’t really have many jobs, and didn’t want to do anything besides writing, so making his characters rich seems convenient.”

Zayn had collected himself and raised an eyebrow coolly at this. “Are you accusing Oscar Wilde of lazy writing?”

Liam’s cheeks went a bit pink. “No, I don’t know…”

Louis laughed, rough and spiteful. “Sounds like you did, mate. So where’s your classic novel, then?”

It was a low blow and Louis knew it. Liam’s eyes widened in disbelief at what Louis had said. “I didn’t say that,” he said, tone short and irritated. “Let me live, jeez.”

Zayn looked between them and sighed. “All right, boys, calm down. Why don’t we talk about Sybil Vane?”

Louis sighed. Niall said, “she’s a symbol, not a person, and it’s misogynist as hell. What else is there to say?”

“Maybe,” Louis started, “that she’s not a character because she’s just the token heterosexual that Oscar didn’t really care about, but had to write.”

Niall nodded with his head slightly tilted, lips pursed in a “fair enough” kind of expression. “When you see it that way it’s even more tragic that Oscar killed her,” he said, eyes on Louis. 

Louis nodded. “I reckon he wanted to end the hetero, so to speak,” he said, very aware of how Zayn watched him talk. There were low chuckles all around the table.

“That’s one way to put it,” Zayn said, and met Louis’ gaze. He was as beautiful as ever. Louis didn’t need that. “But let’s not dwell on biographical readings and move on to style,” he continued. “Thoughts, comments?”

“Flowery,” Louis said without thinking. Zayn smiled sweetly, and fuck. It was time for Louis to do something about this.

“I think it’s a bit much,” Liam quipped. “Too much description, even though it is admittedly very beautifully executed.” I think you’re a bit much, Louis thought, but he bit his tongue because Zayn already thought he was too harsh on Liam. He was. But still.

“I don’t know,” Niall chimed in, chin resting on his arm as he chewed his lip a second before continuing, “I see where you’re coming from, but I think Oscar manages to balance it well. I definitely have a hard time with too much description but I don’t think Oscar crosses that line.”

“What do you think, Louis?” Zayn turned to him as Louis was scraping at the table, thinking he could get away without having to say anything else. Apparently not.

“I think Oscar is perfect,” Louis stated. “His descriptions are lively and lovely and just on the right side of excessive.”

Zayn smiled, nodded, and Niall rolled his eyes at Louis. If Louis hadn’t been focused on what to say to seduce Zayn, he might have noted how that must mean that Niall truly wasn’t cross. Now, however, he just chewed his lip and tried to formulate a plan.

When the rest of the boys left, Louis stayed behind. He walked up to Zayn and waited for him to collect his stuff. Finally, he looked at Louis with his eyebrows raised in question, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you think Oscar was a top or a bottom?” Louis blurted out, tilting his head and pursing his lips. His heart was racing but his face shouldn’t give that away if he had arranged it properly.

Zayn burst out in a surprised laugh, but reeled it back in quickly. “I have it on good authority that he was versatile,” he smiled. “Bosie, on the other hand, exclusively topped.”

Louis relaxed his face and let out a little laugh himself. “Fucking Queensberrys, man.”

“More like not fucking Queensberrys,” Zayn said, only for his eyes to widen a second later. “But Louis, this is quite inappropriate talk between a student and a teacher. And it’s hardly relevant to Oscar’s work.”

But Louis felt Zayn wavering, within his grasp, and he wasn’t giving up yet. “Come on now, is that what Oscar would say?”

Zayn rolled his eyes like he couldn’t believe the conversation. Fair. Louis couldn’t either. “Are you sure you want to go there? What Oscar would do? Because…” He trailed off and his eyes seemed fixated on Louis’ thighs.

Louis took a tiny step closer, and Zayn had to look him in the eye again. “Why? What do you think he would do?”

Zayn cleared his throat. “Well, probably offer you a cigarette.” Louis could probably have used a cigarette right now. Instead he quirked one corner of his mouth up and nodded for Zayn to continue. “And… tried to seduce you, I suppose.”

So close. “What makes you think that?” Louis said, feigning innocence.

Zayn sighed, pained. “Well, you’re a handsome young man with a clean-shaven face, you’re sharp in your thoughts about literature, and, no offense, but you’re not entirely unlike Bosie.”

The innocence was completely gone when Louis replied, voice slow and husky, his gaze meeting Zayn’s. “Except I do bottom.”

For three full seconds Zayn just looked at him, with his lips slightly parted, and Louis felt his heart pound. Then Louis leaned forward just a few millimeters, but that was enough to answer the question he hoped Zayn was asking.

Yes, I want this.

Zayn stepped forward, put his warm hand where Louis’ shoulder became neck, let his fingers slide up for the soft hairs in the back of it and gently swirled them as he whispered in Louis’ ear: “is that so?” Louis grabbed Zayn’s t-shirt and pulled him in, feeling his body heat under the cotton. He put his forehead to rest against Zayn’s and nodded.

They didn’t talk any more.

*

Getting what you want shouldn’t be so greasy. It shouldn’t have your thighs sticking together, making you freeze as you walk home. Getting what you want should feel amazing.

No, Louis corrected himself, it was amazing. Zayn tasted great and communicated and had a gorgeous cock. It was amazing. The room had even smelled faintly like old books. Zayn had told him to take care of himself and seemed a bit worried about taking advantage and asked Louis to please not get him fired. Which he wouldn’t. He wasn’t Bosie, after all.

Louis lit a cigarette to chase the bitter taste and walked faster. He had gotten what he wanted. He had touched the perfect lips and sucked the perfect skin and felt Zayn fill him up. This is exactly what Dorian would have done, he thought, fucked Lord Henry as a thank you for teaching him all he knew. Oscar, too, would be proud. 

So what if he let someone down. At least it wasn’t Oscar.

He came home and took a shower. A few dry sobs shook through him but no tears came. He turned his face up against the shower nuzzle and let the water pour hard on his face. After, he put on a clean t-shirt, an old one that was worn and soft, fluffy socks and boxers. He made himself some tea and pressed play on his stereo where the mix cd from Harry had been the only thing spinning for weeks now.

Putting his teacup on the windowsill, he snuggled in under the covers and tried to feel cozy. This is nice, he told himself. Niall isn’t mad at me and Harry is probably great and I got fucked by Zayn. I have tea and familiar melodies and warmth. I feel good, he told himself.

Then Pulp came on. “A bad cover version of love is not the real thing.”

Louis felt like shit. He had to.

*

“You did what?!” Niall stared at him in shock.

“I had sex with Zayn,” Louis repeated, making an effort to sound matter-of-factly, and took a loud sip of his morning tea.

Niall shook his head. “Louis,” he said, “that’s so fucked.”

“Yeah, I am,” Louis smirked, shifting on the chair so the fabric of his bathrobe rubbed against his skin. “Can still feel it.”

Niall winced. “Please, I don’t want to see Zayn that way.”

“I thought you agreed he’s gorgeous?”

“Of course I do, but he’s an untouchable type of beautiful, like Beyoncé.” Louis shrugged, that was a good point actually, but… That hadn’t stopped him, so. “Besides,” Niall continued, “I’m not as fond of destroying beautiful things as you.”

And. Ouch. Louis wasn’t smirking any more. “Whatever,” he said and stood up. “I’m finishing my tea in my room. I need to get ready.”

“I’m sorry!” Niall yelled after him, but he had effectively shut down Louis’ defense against the reality of his actions.

In his room, Louis sat down on his bed, balancing his teacup on his left knee, and just stared at it. He could see bits of bread swirling around at the bottom. Gross. He felt numb. Apart from the dull sting in his belly, reminding him exactly how deep Zayn had gone. Thanks.

How was he going to face everyone next time? Niall was right, it was fucked up. But how else was Louis supposed to live his life? He honestly didn’t know. In any case, he had to get ready for school, so he put the cup next to the growing collection of dishes on his windowsill, and shed his robe. Just as he was buttoning his jeans his phone went off.

A text from Harry. He sighed. Sweet, nice, Harry, who didn’t know what a mess Louis actually was. 

**I’m starting to get lonely here. Fancy a visit? ☺**

That changed things. Louis didn’t think twice. He got dressed, but instead of packing books for school in his shoulder bag, he dug out his backpack and shoved in a few changes of clothes. He scurried to the bathroom and put his toothbrush in a plastic bag. He considered bringing shampoo and towel, but that’s the kind of thing you get when you’re an invited guest, is it not? Especially if you didn’t bring any.

Louis got on the train with a vague ambition to study, but he spent the journey looking out at the rain and listening to music. He tapped his finger lightly on his thigh in time with the beat and thought about the actual picture of Dorian, the portrait that showed his corruption. When Louis looked himself in the mirror he looked as cute as ever, if a bit tired. But let’s say there was a portrait of him, how would it look? An image of a portrait-Louis with empty eyes and a load of jizz on his face flashed through his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to erase it. He wasn’t that much of a slag. Was he?

Harry’s nan lived in a small brick house. Louis trudged up the little street by himself, stopping to look at the description Harry texted him every few meters. He didn’t let himself wonder why Harry didn’t pick him up at the station. Didn’t matter.

He seemed happy enough to see him, though, when Louis finally found the right house. He pulled Louis into a tight hug and for some reason Louis felt like crying. He weaseled out of Harry’s sure arms and said, “show me the house, then,” and Harry smiled and gave Louis the tour.

The house was all gentle colours – mostly brown, just a few shades darker than Harry’s hair – and eighties patterns, with white doilies on every other surface including the tv. There were soft carpets swallowing Louis’ steps and Harry pointed at a painting of a ship, saying, “my grandfather painted this,” and Louis nodded, impressed.

Harry’s nan herself was as gentle as the house. “Come here, lad,” she said and pulled Louis into his second hug for the day. "I'm Alicia, but I'm sure Harry's told you that," she said into his shoulder. She let him go and looked him int he eye like she was sizing him up, then continued, “I’ll make you boys some tea in a minute, yeah?”

“That sounds lovely,” Louis croaked out. He wasn't use to people hugging him before they'd introduced themselves.

“Let’s fix up your mattress in the meantime,” Harry said, pushing Louis out of the room. Alicia just smiled at them.

*

They brushed their teeth together, gazes meeting in the mirror and light giggles for no reason but no words. Louis hadn’t known what to say anyway. It wasn’t until they were tucked in, Harry in the guest room bed and Louis on the floor beneath him, Harry spoke again.

“So,” Harry said. “How’s it feel?”

“What?”

He could see Harry’s comforter move and guessed he was shrugging. “Being here, I guess.”

Louis bit his lip. “It’s nice,” he said after a while. “Cozy.” Like a home, he thought.

Harry chuckled. “It is, isn’t it?” He was quiet for a minute, then added, “good night, Louis.”

“Good night,” Louis echoed softly.

The sheets smelled different, and Louis couldn’t sleep. He listened to Harry’s steady breathing above him, and for a while he tried to adjust his breaths to that calm rhythm. It didn’t work. After half an hour he found himself downloading the Grindr app. Again.

Louis had sworn off Grindr when he had met up with someone who, well, wasn’t very nice. But apparently he didn’t care about that right now. He chose a picture carefully; he had to have a sexy one, but not so twinky that too many creeps came after him. For a moment he thought about Oscar Wilde on Grindr and smiled at his phone in the dark. Oscar would definitely had been the creep going after much too young twinks, had he been alive and on Grindr. Incorrigible.

Biting his lip until it was raw, he watched the chat window blink with men saying hello, some asking questions, some sending dick pics. He didn’t respond to any of them. 

He just held his phone tightly and let himself drift off into sleep.


	6. Howl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis gets a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allo Darlin's album We come from the same place is the one Harry is reviewing in this chapter, if you're interested. I recommend listening to it! This chapter was super nice to write, hope you enjoy it. :)

When Louis woke up, Harry was sleeping still. His breathing was just as calm as they had been the previous night. How did he sleep so well? Louis started moving carefully, adjusting his body to being awake, and felt a twinge in his palm. When he looked at it he could see a small bump that wasn’t usually there. Beside him on the floor next to the mattress was his phone, and he remembered being lulled to sleep by Grindr.

Technically, that might be a new low, but Louis didn’t feel like it mattered all that much. The sheets were clean, and soft simply because they’d been used so much, and their different smell didn’t bother him any more.

He stood up, slowly so as not to wake Harry, and pulled his jeans and a t-shirt on as quietly as he could. Pocketing his phone, which was seriously low on battery, he snuck out of the room.

The clock on his phone told him 7 am and the house was quiet. Louis went to brush his teeth, thinking about the teeth-brushing scene in Fight Club, and smiled when he spit in the light green sink. For some reason, not having the toothpaste pink with blood felt like an achievement. Well done, Louis. Your life is not a complete mess, after all.

After that he walked around the house, his socked feet impossibly quiet on the carpet. He lingered in the living room, reading book titles with his head tilted. Agatha Christie. Jane Austen. Harper Lee. Louis stroked the one of the books with soft fingertips, cracked leather catching his skin. He contemplated pulling it out and smelling it, but settled for leaning closer to the book case and inhaling deeply. It had pretty much the same effect.

“Smelling books again, are we?” Louis jumped away from the bookcase instantly when he heard Harry’s amused voice, but he found himself quickly.

“Yes, I was, whatcha gonna do about it?” He cocked his hip and grinned at Harry, who let out a puff of laughter.

“I think I’ll have to punish you by cooking you breakfast,” he replied, and this time when he spoke Louis could really hear how raspy and deep his morning voice was. His cheeks heated up, but he ignored that.

“Oh, however will I survive such cruel punishment!” He put the back of his hand on his forehead and looked up at the ceiling dramatically. “May God have mercy on my poor soul!”

This brought him a genuine laughter from Harry. He then gestured for Louis to follow him to the kitchen, and proceeded to make tea and scramble eggs.

Louis cradled the cup in his hands while Harry worked on the food in silence. He thought about how yesterday he had woken up feeling less than okay with his life, but now, he was in a different reality. A reality that had Harry’s laughs and actual cooked breakfast and someone looking out for him. He was all too aware that his other reality was still out there, not being dealt with, but right here with a My Little Pony teacup and Harry humming as he cooked, Louis couldn’t bring himself to worry about it.

For lack of a better word, Louis felt good.

*

When Harry suggested they should use their morning to go for a walk in the sharp autumn weather, Louis automatically said yes. Why not?

“Oh, you know what,” he realized seconds later, “I need to charge my phone first. Is that okay?”

“What do you need your phone for?” Harry looked skeptical.

“To take pictures, silly,” Louis replied, reaching out to poke Harry in the side, which earned him a surprised squeak. This day was great.

So they ended up in Harry’s room, or the guest room, as it were, waiting for Louis’ phone to charge.

“Do you mind if we listen to this album I have to review? I think you’ll like it,” Harry said, eyes big and begging like he asked Louis for a huge favor. “It’s the new Allo Darlin.”

“Of course,” Louis said. “Hey, I know them! They were on the cd you made me, weren’t they?”

Harry beamed. “Yeah, that’s them! So you don’t mind?”

“I’m sure I can stand some twee for an hour,” Louis replied, going for nonchalant but sensing his face being more soft than anything else. Damn it.

Harry took the cd out of its little plastic sleeve and put the record on. As Louis had anticipated, it was very sweet. Lyrics about hearts and dancefloors and loving. Harry got a notebook from the mess on the tiny desk in the room and alternated between listening intently while staring into space and jotting down quick sentences.

Louis glanced at the desk and noticed a tiny book that lay there. Howl and other poems by Allen Ginsberg. “Do you mind if I read this?” he asked, rendering Harry started from his concentration.

“Uh, yeah, I mean, no, I don’t mind,” he waved his hand at Louis as if to ask him to shut up.

Message received, Louis didn’t say anything else. He opened the book and started by reading the foreword, which stated, “the spirit of love survives to ennoble our lives if we have the wit and the courage and the faith–and the art! to persist.” William Carlos Williams.

Huh. Didn’t that just sound beautiful?

Louis read to the end of the foreword, then went back and read that sentence again. If we have the faith and art and courage to persist, love will “ennoble” our lives. Louis didn’t know who this William Williams – what a funny name – was, or if he had a point other than trying to sound poignant.

The words gnawed at Louis, though, so he supposed they were kind of poignant. A thought that annoyed him immensely. A lyric over the sweet music caught his ear, “the hardest thing we ever have to learn, is when those we love don’t love us in return.”

He shook his head and read on.

It was a strange experience. The music playing was skipping along, notes trickling down the beat like sap down a tree, but the words he read were anything but gentle. He felt his pulse speed up from the high pace of it, eyes widening at the word ‘cock’, wincing at racial slurs, head spinning trying to imagine all the places the poem tried to whisk him away to.

“Who let themselves get fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,” he read. Zayn popped into his head. Saintly might not be what you would call him, but he certainly could be called that.

And Louis had screamed with joy.

The words blurred on the page as he let himself remember, and the sweetness of the music seemed ironic now, when he recalled the string of nasty words he’d unabashedly let out while Zayn was fucking him. Loud.

He closed the book as forcefully as one can close a very thin little paperback, and quipped, “are you ready to go?”

Harry looked up from his notebook, slow, as if he had all the time in the world, and replied, “sure. I’ll continue this later.” He offered a smile, and Louis hastily flashed one back at him. This was a good day. 

He was all right.

The forest turned out to be about twenty minutes walk from the dainty little street, and Louis was a little short of air when they finally saw pine trees rising toward the sky.

“How’s not working out working out for you?” Harry teased; cheeks flushed red from the chilly air and the walk.

“How’s being insufferable working out for you?” Louis forced out between breaths, then demonstratively got his cigarettes out of his pockets and lit one. Harry just rolled his eyes and started walking again, thankfully at a slower pace.

The forest path was narrow and didn’t look very walked on, but it was definitely there. Louis would normally just flick the cigarette butt away, but he couldn’t do that here. He felt like the trees would glare disapprovingly at him. Maybe even start walking and lifting him up, like in The Lord of the Rings. So when he was done smoking, he put it out on the sole of his shoe and put the butt in the packet. He cringed, knowing the rest of the cigarettes would taste strange. His jacket would probably smell as well.

Harry looked pleased with the development, though. “Are you done with that?” he asked, looking like he was about to tease Louis again.

“Obviously,” Louis replied. “So, do you come here a lot?”

Harry laughed. “That sounds like a chat-up line, you saucy minx.” Louis felt his face heat up, but before he had time to stress over a reply, Harry continued, “but yeah, I do. If I get stuck on something while writing it’s nice to take a walk to clear my head.”

Louis gave a “hmm” to show he’d heard, but didn’t say anything else. Instead he looked around. There were trees, tall and less tall ones, literally everywhere. When he inhaled it was there was a fresh scent of pine and nature filling his lungs and he almost felt bad for smoking in here. Harry walked in front of him and Louis watched the ground swell back up after the imprints his feet left. There was a footprint for a second, then it was like it was never there.

“It’s nice here,” he said after a while of walking in silence.

Harry turned around and smiled at him. “I’m glad you think so,” he said. “Speaking of nice, what did you think of the Allo Darlin album?”

Just like that, Louis was out of his pensive nature mood. “I mean,” he smirked, “it was cute and all, it was just too cute, do you know what I mean? Too cute to be real.”

Harry huffed. “Too cute to be real, hm? Then my question is, what makes you think cute things aren’t real?”

The wind whispered softly in the trees and Harry looked triumphantly at Louis. Louis’ smile faltered. “I, er,” he began, frantically searching his mind for something to say, “they just aren’t?” How eloquent, he scolded himself.

Harry had won, but he didn’t look so pleased with it anymore. He just suggested they head home and help out with dinner. They walked back the same way they’d come, Harry again trudging first and Louis behind, trying to keep up, with his hands in his pockets.

*

Harry helped his grandmother make dinner because of course he did. Louis offered to help too, half-heartedly, but she waved him away and told him to do whatever he wanted because he was a guest. He didn’t know what he would do, though, so he just stayed in the kitchen and listened to them talk. They were discussing the food, then there was a story about a lost cat in the neighborhood, and it was all just so nice.

Louis felt warm and cozy, a bit hungry, but still comfortable. He should, by all reasonable logic, be relaxed. Instead he found himself with a leg jumping, pulling the threads on the sleeve of his knitted jumper, fiddling with his phone. He was looking at a selfie he and Harry had taken in the woods when a text notification flashed across the screen. NIALL it read across Harry’s red dimpled cheeks and Louis’ unsure smile.

**I hope you’re still coming to my gig!!!**

Nothing else. Okay then. 

**_Of course I am xx_ **

Louis wasn’t actually trying to be a shit friend. Things just seemed to take a turn like that, lately. Not that Harry seemed to mind. Every now and then he’d turn from the stove and check on Louis, who smiled back from his chair.

Nice.

It was all very nice. They sat down to eat and Harry’s grandmother offered them a glass of red wine, which Louis gladly accepted. He wasn’t usually a red wine type of person – not all book nerds are, okay, he didn’t care what Niall claimed about books and pop and red wine belonging together – but it seemed to fit with the rich, meaty soup they were eating. It did.

Louis thanked profusely for the food until Harry blushed and Alicia said, “please, darling, stop, or you won’t get any tomorrow.”

He hadn’t thought about when he’d go back, nor discussed it with Harry, but a quick glance told him he’d stay for at least another dinner. He nodded and smiled to Alicia, then mirrored his action when he poured himself another glass of wine and walked away.

Back in Harry’s room, he sat down on his bed, and Louis somehow managed to sit down on his mattress without spilling any wine. Could be because he held it to his lips the entire time to make sure.

“I noticed you read Howl earlier,” Harry said, gesturing toward the desk with his wineglass, making the deep red liquid swirl. Louis was in the middle of a gulp, but he nodded in response. “Have you seen Kill your darlings?”

Louis swallowed his wine and felt it settle comfortably in his tummy. “No, I’ve been meaning to, though.”

“Do you want to watch it now?” Harry watched Louis intently and Louis felt the alcohol swim in his veins.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, going for casual but ended up sounding awkward.

Harry got his laptop from the desk and put it on the bedside table. Louis made no sign that he was about to move, and Harry looked at him with raised eyebrows. “You know, you won’t see much from down there.”

“I know,” Louis huffed, and took another sip of wine to get out of talking. But then he gave in, and with a slight effort he got up and crawled up on Harry’s bed, back rested against the wall.

Harry apparently had the movie already, because he started it as soon as Louis was sitting, positioned the computer strategically so Louis could see as well as him, then rested against the wall himself. He was close enough that Louis could see the individual stiches in his jeans but not so close that he could feel any body heat.

They watched in silence, sipping wine and stirring a little when the hard wall got uncomfortable. When the first close-up of Dane Deehan’s face came on, Louis could hear Harry swallowing audibly. Christ. He was almost out of wine, but took a big sip anyway, trying not to visualize what those lips could do.

“He looks absolutely sinful,” Harry said, as if he could hear Louis’ thoughts.

Louis sighed. “That pretty much sums it up, doesn’t it. Why is the asshole always so beautiful?” Harry smirked, and took a breath like he was about to say something, but before he could Louis realised what he’d said, “oh, god, I didn’t mean it like that, please don’t.” So Harry didn’t.

The film went on and Louis found himself slightly annoyed, yet endeared, by the pretentiousness of the group in it. You’re not going to change the world, he thought. But didn’t they? Before he could stop himself, he wondered what Zayn would say, and then he remembered and a twist of discomfort ruined the warm niceness in his stomach.

Toward the end there was a brief sex scene. Louis tried not to let it get to him, but he had had two glasses of wine and two hot men kissing and grasping at each other like it was the end of the world. He closed his eyes and felt his cock fatten up in his trousers, pulsating against the zipper.

When he opened his eyes, Harry was looking at him. “What?” he said, immediately defensive.

Harry quickly averted his eyes back to the screen. “Nothing,” he said, biting his bottom lip.

Louis pulled his jumper over his crotch and did not cry at the end. 

“Did you like the film?” Harry asked, and paused the credits that were rolling.

“I think so, yeah,” Louis replied. “Do you mind if we sleep now? I’m knackered.” He was about to stretch and yawn before he remembered his crotch situation. “That wine really got to me,” he added jokingly, but Harry just nodded as if he’d been serious.

“Of course,” he said, and that was that.

By the time Louis had gotten the purple off his teeth, his erection had gone down. Harry said goodnight, turned the light off, and Louis remembered he had things to feel bad about but he couldn’t really bring himself to. He went to sleep in the soft sheets effortlessly.

*

The next day Harry had to finish his Allo Darlin review, and he claimed he couldn’t do so with Louis in the room, so Louis snapped Howl from the desk and trotted downstairs to the living room. Alicia was sitting on the sofa, knitting, and when she saw Louis she patted on it beside her.

“Did Harry throw you out?” She said and smiled knowingly.

Louis chuckled softly. “Kind of, yeah.”

“Well, I’m glad I get to have some company, I guess I’ll have to thank him later,” she said happily, knitting needles clinking against each other. Louis fascinated by how she could talk and not miss a single purl.

“What are you reading?” She went on, seemingly unfazed by Louis’ lack of response.

“Allen Ginsberg,” he replied, holding up the book to show her.

She clicked her tongue. “Ah, Ginsberg, I know who that is. Pretty scandalous, isn’t he?”

Louis felt his cheeks go red; he remembered the ass-fucking line very clearly. “You could say,” he replied. She chuckled at this.

“Don’t worry, love, I don’t mind. Literature needs to be shaken up every once in a while, I think.”

Louis nodded. “It really grabs your attention,” he said.

“That’s probably the point,” she replied, with a faint smile playing on her lips.

“I don’t know, though,” Louis went on, a bit more sure now, “I sometimes feel like it’s provocative just for provocation’s sake, if you know what I mean, like the only point is to upset people, it serves no other purpose.”

At this, she actually put her knitting down, and Louis wondered if he’d gone too far. “Is upsetting dusty old professors not a good enough purpose for you?”

Louis laughed. “You’re right, I apologise.” His eyes travelled to the painting of the ship, and he nodded to it and said, “Harry told me your husband painted that?”

Alicia got a glint of nostalgia in her eyes. “Yes, he did, god bless him. He insisted he wasn’t an artist, refused to make anything else than a hobby of it, but he never looked so happy as when he painted.”

“I’m sorry you lost him,” Louis said softly.

She sighed. “Thank you, love.” She was quiet for a moment and started up her knitting again, faster this time. “Did Harry tell you how we met?”

“No, how?”

She kept her eyes on her knitting as she told the story. Louis could tell this was a story that had been told many times and perfected over the years, cute details picked out to create an effect. They’d met at the bakery where she worked and he would buy fresh bread for breakfast every morning.

“I found out later that he came every day so I’d notice him,” she said with an introspective smile, clearly telling the story to herself as much as to Louis. “He didn’t eat all the bread and ended up with several moldy loafs of bread every week.”

Louis giggled a little at this, and she joined him. “Of course, when I found that out we’d been going steady for a while, but I started making him small rolls instead, so he’d still have fresh bread every morning.”

It was all so cute it made Louis’ chest hurt. “How did you manage to stay together for so long?” He asked, not sure if he wanted to know but asking anyway.

“I’m not going to lie to you, love, it wasn’t always easy. But we kept choosing each other.” She put her knitting down and looked Louis in the eye. “Don’t let romantic myths of soulmates and destiny make you think you don’t have a choice in your relationships. You do.”

Louis desperately wanted to look away, but that would be rude, so he kept eye contact, feeling like she looked right into his mess of a soul. He nodded weakly.

“Hello!” Harry beamed from the staircase. “I’m done! Who wants tea?”

Louis jumped as if the sofa had burned him. “Tea sounds good,” he said.

Tea sounded really fucking good right about now.

*

Louis stayed with Harry and his grandmother for days. On Wednesday, a day he’d normally be in book club scoffing at Liam and pining for Zayn, he was in a warm kitchen baking cinnamon cookies with Harry. Baking, meaning he stole cookie dough from the bowl when Harry looked the other way and offered to make the icing so he could lick the spoon.

The radio was playing, some hit station, and Taylor Swift came on. Harry immediately started dancing and singing into the ladle: “cause the bakers gonna bake, bake, bake, bake, bake…” One wouldn’t think it was possible to smile so big and still keep singing, but Harry’s dimples were on full display and Louis laughed, heat coiling in his belly. Then he sang along, “but I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake, shake it off, shake it oooff!” He was sit-dancing on his place by the slightly messy table, Harry pointed cheeky finger guns at him, and Louis just felt so good.

Louis didn’t realize how strange it felt until the song was over and Harry went back to shaping cookies. His mouth was sugar-sticky and his body was relaxed and yeah, this was nice.

Almost like he could have that.

*

When Louis woke up Thursday morning he knew his little holiday was over. It had been a week, and also, Niall’s gig would be the next day, and he’d promised to go. He closed his eyes and contemplated going back to sleep, but Harry had started moving around in his bed, getting his limbs ready for a new day.

“Morning,” Louis said, but he had no control over his voice and it came out like a squeak, so he cleared his throat and said again, “er, I mean, good morning.”

Harry just waved at him, apparently not awake enough to speak yet.

At the breakfast table Louis nibbled distractedly on a crumpet and took big gulps of his hot tea. After a while Alicia noticed and asked him if he was okay.

“I’m just sad that I have to leave,” Louis said. He couldn’t be bothered to tell anything but the truth.

“Aw,” was Alicias response. “You’re welcome back any time, love, I hope you know that.”

Louis heart swelled in his chest. “Thank you so much,” he said, making an effort to let it shine through how much he meant it. She smiled like she understood. At least Louis hoped so.

Harry had watched this in silence, but now he spoke up, mumbling through a mouthful of scone. “Isn’t Niall’s thing this weekend?” Louis nodded. 

Harry swallowed and then said, “I’ll come with you,” all matter-of-factly.

Louis’ eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yeah, if you’d let me sleep on your couch, that’d be fun. I’m his friend, too, you know, I want to support him. Besides, maybe I’ll review it.”

Louis felt a weird drop in his stomach at that. “Isn’t that immoral?” he said, not meaning to sound as skeptical as he did.

“Who told you journalism was moral?” Harry laughed bitterly at his own joke, but settled down quickly. “No, I shouldn’t, and I probably won’t, but if I see do like them I could try to get them some exposure.”

Louis just nodded. That sounded all right. Good, even.

They spent their last day together but in silence. Louis was on his mattress reading a book he’d borrowed from Alicia – Anne of Green Gables – and Harry was hammering away on his computer, transcribing an interview he’d done via telephone the day before.

When they’d gone to bed that night, Harry suddenly spoke in the dark. “I can’t believe you skipped out on book club this week to be here.”

Louis was very glad that the dark hid his unsure face. “It’s changed a lot,” he said carefully.

“How?”

“I…” This was probably when he should tell Harry about Zayn. “You’re not there, for starters,” he said instead.

He couldn’t see Harry in the dark but he hoped he was smiling when he replied, “is that really it?”

Louis sighed. “I did something bad, Harry.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said quickly, “you don’t have to tell me. Unless you want to.”

Louis felt his throat close up like he was about to cry. Fuck. “It’s just… A lot,” he said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Harry’s hand slipped out of the blankets then, searching for Louis’ on the floor. Louis let him take it and willed himself not to let any tears spill out when Harry squeezed his hand tightly. He didn’t say anything and he didn’t let go. Louis fell asleep like that, with Harry’s hand sweat mingling with his own. He dreamed of saintly motorcyclists.

*

The next day saw them leave, after several hugs from Harry’s grandmother and Louis promising that he’d be back to visit again soon. Louis still smiled when they walked down the street toward the train station. Few things are as lovely as sweet old ladies, he mused. Possibly there was also something to be said about the loveliness of the Styles family, but Louis pushed that thought aside.

On the train Harry listened to music and looked out of the window. Louis tried to do the same, but kept distractedly messing around with his phone. On an impulse he deleted Grindr again. Then he took some selfies, but was interrupted by Harry laughing at him.

“As if you don’t take selfies,” he grumbled.

“I do, but not in public places,” Harry said and stuck his tongue out. Then he imitated Louis’ selfie face, “ooh, look at me, I’m Louis, my cheekbones could kill a man,” he mocked, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Excuse me, I would never kill a man with my cheekbones! I am appalled by the accusation.”

“Nah, you’d just suck the life out of him through his dick,” Harry said and winked. Louis looked away, flustered. What the hell, Harry.

“I won’t dignify that with a response,” he mumbled, in a truly pathetic attempt at being snarky. Harry was still laughing when Louis put his earphones back in and turned the volume up. He listened to The Pains of Being Pure at Heart and tried not to admit to himself that it was nice to have some company.

Really nice.

*

Niall wasn’t home when they got to the apartment. “Probably soundchecking,” Harry said brightly and dropped his backpack on the sofa. “So when do we go there?”

“Someone’s eager,” Louis said over his shoulder as he entered his room. It smelled like old socks and not being inhabited for a week. He scrunched his nose and pushed the window open, to his nipples’ immediate disapproval. He could feel them poking into his t-shirt. As quickly as he could, he got some clean clothes from the closet and then reentered the living room.

“I’m going to have a shower,” he told Harry, who was sitting on the sofa with his feet on the table. “Then we’ll go.”

Harry frowned. “What about food?”

Right. There would probably be drinking, and Louis knew all too well how he handled drinking on an empty stomach. “I don’t know if there is any,” he said.

“I’ll have a look,” Harry said, and Louis shrugged and went into the bathroom.

When he reemerged fifteen minutes later, Harry had made pasta. “There’s nothing but ketchup to go with it,” was his greeting, but Louis smiled.

“My favourite Spartan meal,” he joked.

“I don’t think the Spartans had ketchup,” Harry said seriously, and swirled some spaghetti onto a fork.

Louis rolled his eyes. “What are you, a historian?”

Harry didn’t respond to that.

By the time Louis had finished eating, he could feel his full stomach press into the button on his jeans. “How am I supposed to fit beer in me now?” he whined.

Harry laughed. “I have faith in you, king of beer,” he said.

*

When they entered the club, the first thing Louis noticed was the poster announcing “TONIGHT: Niall and the Endless Summers!” and he smiled. Niall was making his dreams happen and Louis did have it in him to be happy. Who’d have thought?

After paying the doorman and getting a stamp on their wrists, Harry and Louis made their way through the less than crowded room toward the bar. Louis looked around to see if he could find Niall, but he was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s probably backstage,” Harry said, as if he’d read Louis’ mind. How did he keep doing that?

Louis nodded and stepped up to the bar. “Two pints of Spitfire, please,” he said.

“Hey!” Harry elbowed him in the waist. “Did I say that’s what I want?”

“Isn’t it, though?” Louis smirked, and Harry hid his face in his hands.

“Oh my God. I hope they’re paying you for this,” he groaned, but Louis could see a smile peeking between Harry’s long fingers.

“Quite the opposite, actually,” Louis said as he gave the barmaid a tenner. Then he took a sip from his ale, before taking the change and saying, “thanks, love,” and handing Harry his pint.

“Thank you,” Harry said, serious again. Louis just waved lazily with one hand and kept his mouth glued to the glass.

They found a spot to stand, close to the stage but not right in front of it, and Louis scanned the room as he sipped his beer. Cool cardigans and anxious American Apparel seemed to be the fashion of the evening, he noted. He wasn’t exactly out of place in his skinny jeans and Meat is murder t-shirt, but he had a feeling most people here would think The Smiths were too mainstream. Too bad for them.

Harry, on the other hand, was definitely not dressed for twee. He, too, was in skinny jeans, which combined with his heeled boots made his legs look infinite and quite climbable. For a top he’d chosen a mesh black number with a hint of glitter in the fabric. If Louis squinted he could make out the butterfly tattoo.

“Checking out my impressive abs, Louis?” Harry interrupted Louis’ fashion thoughts and Louis’ eyes immediately flew up to his face. He was smirking.

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” Louis bit back, perhaps a bit too aggressive. “I was just pondering the fashion in the room. You’re out of place.”

“One can never be overdressed,” Harry replied, “haven’t you heard?”

“Whatever, Harry Wilde.” Harry laughed delightedly.

They conversed like that, easy and snappy, for a bit, and soon their beers were gone. Harry insisted he get the next round, so Louis was left to his own for a bit. He put their glasses down against the wall and tapped his fingers against the pocket of his jeans.

When Harry returned, it was with pint glasses, but it just looked like coke in them. What the fuck? Harry noticed Louis’ confused face and grinned.

“I asked them to put a triple rum and coke in a pint glass,” he explained, looking utterly pleased with himself.

“Fucking hell,” Louis replied. “Guess I’m getting drunk then.”

Harry handed him his glass. “Cheers to that,” he said, clinking their glasses together.

“Cheers,” Louis echoed.

Halfway through the giant rum and coke Louis felt pleasantly buzzed and smiley, chatting away to Harry about gigs they’d been to – apparently they’d both seen Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros at Leeds 2011 – when the music stopped and Niall and his boys got up on stage.

There was some cautious applause, and Niall stepped up to the microphone. Anyone who didn’t know him probably couldn’t see the nerves on his face, but Louis could tell. 

“Good evening,” Niall said. “I’m Niall, we’re Niall and the Endless Summers, and we’re going to play some songs for you tonight.”

The applause was a bit stronger this time, and then they started their first song. Jangly guitar, drums Louis couldn’t describe as anything but euphoric, and Niall’s sweet honey voice, singing– 

“And maybe one day soon, I’ll let myself feel good, I’ll be over the moon, and we’ll be together just like we should…”

Louis took a big gulp of his rum and coke and felt the alcohol warm his insides. He glanced to his side, where Harry stood, listening intently and tapping his foot to the beat. Louis took another gulp and looked back to the stage. Niall looked so happy up there, cradling his guitar and swaying his hips to the cute melody.

A few songs in they were out of drinks again. Louis gestured to Harry that he’d get more, then went. He tried to think of something that could top the triple rum and coke, looking around the bar for inspiration, until he saw… Jug of the week, Sex on the beach, £10.

“I’ll have a jug of the week and two glasses, please, “ he smiled to the barmaid.

When he got back to Harry, he just rolled his eyes and reached for one of the glasses. He mouthed “thank you” to Louis before turning his focus back to the stage. Louis pouted into his glass. He’d thought there would be more of a reaction. He carefully put the jug down between his feet and tried his best to applaud the end of a song even with a glass in his hand.

“Thank you,” Niall said, smiling bigger than Louis had ever seen him do before. “This is our last song, it’s a cover, by the incomparable Belle and Sebastian, this is our version of Wrapped up in books.” They started playing the intro, and Niall added, “thanks so much for coming out tonight!”

Louis felt hot all over, and like his heart was beating to the beat of the drums, and in that moment there was nothing else but him and the music.

“I wish I had two paths I could follow, I’d write the ending without any sorrow,” Niall sang, sweetly as ever.

“Our aspirations, wrapped up in books! Our inclinations, hidden in looks!” Louis sang along unabashedly, helped by the alcohol, and he saw in the corner of his eye that Harry was doing the same.

As soon as the last beat had died out, the DJ put on Panic by The Smiths, and Louis had to dance. He had to. Glass in hand, he swirled out on the dance floor, surrounded by awkward cardigans, and gave his all. He blinked and then Harry was in front of him, holding their half-empty jug. Louis swiped it from him and drank straight from it before shouting “hang the dj, hang the dj, hang the dj!” Harry laughed, sang along, and Louis watched his wet, red lips form the lyrics. He was definitely drunk now, and Harry was very pretty.

“I’m drunk,” he informed Harry, “and you’re pretty.”

Harry stopped singing and his cheeks went even redder. “You are drunk,” he said. “And you were totally checking me out earlier.”

Louis drank out of the jug again, but he wasn’t very graceful about it and some ran out the side of his mouth down on his chest. “You can’t prove that,” he said.

“I think you just did yourself,” Harry said, then sucked his thumb into his mouth and rubbed on the stain on Louis’ t-shirt. It was right over his nipple and Louis hissed.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and looked up at Harry. Harry looked back at him, too serious for a dance floor, too serious for The Coral’s Dreaming of you which was now playing, too serious for Louis to deal with.

“Louis,” Harry said, his hand now splayed over Louis’ heart. He could probably feel it beat like a fucking sledgehammer. “Can I kiss you?”

Louis felt like time stopped. He couldn’t hear the music any more, he just saw images flashing before his eyes, himself snogging Stan, Stan leaving, himself messing about with Calum, Niall being disappointed with him, calling Harry drunk and sad, himself getting fucked by Zayn, Harry smiling at him, Harry holding his hand until he fell asleep, Harry standing before him asking if he could kiss him.

Louis nodded.

Harry trailed his hand up from Louis’ chest to let it rest on his neck, slow and warm and sure. Then he closed the distance between their faces and gently pressed his lips against Louis’ like it was second nature to him. It seemed so simple, Louis thought, how their lips fit together like a cd in its case. Harry’s lips were soft and hot and a little sticky and Louis opened his mouth a little, Harry’s tongue followed, Louis opened up more so his tongue could meet it, and Harry’s grasp on his neck hardened. Every part of him that Harry was touching felt like it was electric.

When they eventually had to break apart for air, Louis giggled breathlessly. Harry rested his forehead against Louis’ and giggled with him.

“What now?” He whispered.

Louis pushed the jug into Harry’s hands. “Drink this,” he said. Harry obliged and emptied the jug. Louis watched his throat bob as he swallowed, and god, he wanted to suck bruises on it. When Harry was finished, he looked at Louis again.

“Now, we dance,” Louis said, trying to ignore the voice in his head that told him to hold Harry’s hand and never let go.

So they danced until their hair was plastered to their foreheads and Harry’s top was even more transparent than before. At some point, Niall joined them, and they exchanged hugs and congratulations, and Louis ignored Niall looking pointedly between the two of them.

Much too soon they put the lights on and the music off and there was nothing left to do but walk home, Louis in between Harry and Niall.

Niall took a glass of water with him and disappeared into his room, and Louis and Harry were left standing, both watching the sofa Harry was supposed to sleep on. Louis was still buzzed, blood pumping warm and head pleasantly swimming. He felt like he could take a risk.

“You know,” he said slowly, “you can sleep in my bed if you want.”

Harry looked at him and bit his lip. “Are you sure?”

Louis nodded. “Better than the sofa,” he offered as explanation.

Harry smiled. “Okay. I’d like that, yeah.”

They tried to brush the alcohol out of their mouths in silence, Louis giggling for no reason when his eyes met Harry’s in the mirror.

When they got into Louis’ room, the window was still open and it was absolutely freezing. Louis swore and closed the window.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled from underneath his top, which he was in the middle of taking off. Louis wasn’t sober enough to keep from staring at Harry’s hard nipples or the wings of the swallow tattoos grazing his collarbones. When Harry finally got it off, he looked up at Louis and waggled his eyebrows.

“Like what you see?”

“Shut up,” Louis said, and turned away to take his own sticky t-shirt off. “If you don’t behave you can sleep on the sofa after all, see if I care.”

He could hear Harry snicker behind him. “Sorry,” he said. He could hear the button of Harry’s jeans pop open and Harry’s ragged breaths as he took them off. He did the same and did pointedly not think about Harry being almost naked in his bed.

When he turned around, Harry was already in bed, just his curly head sticking out from under the covers. He looked strangely at home there. Louis took a deep breath, lifted the corner, and slid under it. It was surprisingly warm already. He made a point not to touch Harry, keeping a few centimeters between them, but it couldn’t have been more than a minute until Harry spoke.

“Don’t I get a cuddle?”

Louis bit back a smile, and turned to Harry. He was on his back, and without a word, Louis draped himself over his side, burying his face in Harry’s neck, slotting a leg between Harry’s, lazily throwing an arm over Harry’s torso.

“Happy now?” He asked.

Harry nodded. Then Louis shifted his thigh slightly upwards, nudging Harry’s package, and Harry inhaled sharply. Louis smirked to himself. He was in control. Harry was warm and lovely, and all that mattered right now was Harry’s calm breathing and steady heartbeat under Louis’ embrace.

The rest could wait until tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo how's this going to go? We'll see. Come chat on tumblr: louisincake :) xx


	7. The Great Gatsby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis sorts some things out.

Louis woke up with a dry mouth and sweaty hands. The arm that had been loosely wrapped around Harry was now wedged under him, and hurting from lack of circulation. Harry’s breathing sounded like he was still asleep.

Of course Louis had forgotten to close the blinds the night before, and he blinked in the cold sunlight coming in through the window. He pondered if he could free his arm without waking Harry up. Harry looked so peaceful, though, sleeping with his mouth open and complete relaxation on his face.

Sleep is such a vulnerable state, Louis thought. It takes a certain amount of trust to sleep in the same bed as someone. He wondered if he’d done anything in his sleep, if he’d said something, if he’d been clingy, if he’d been too… much. He grimaced.

Slowly, he started to pry his arm loose. When he was halfway, Harry made a noise, and he stopped and held his breath. The palm of his hand was now pressed flatly against Harry’s back. He was hot and Louis felt his damp hand stick to Harry’s skin.

Harry blinked a few times and squinted at Louis. “Morning,” he rasped.

“Morning,” Louis said awkwardly. “Sorry I woke you.”

Harry waved lazily; like Louis’ words were a tired fly he tried to get rid of. “’S okay,” he said. “What time is it?”

“Er,” Louis said. “I don’t know.”

His hand was still stuck under Harry, but Harry didn’t seem to mind, or even notice. His face still looked relaxed. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry sounded faintly amused.

Louis felt his cheeks heat up. “My hand is stuck,” he mumbled.

Harry laughed then, like this was all just very funny to him, and rolled over, freeing Louis’ hand. Louis circled his wrist, trying to get some circulation back, and then slumped down on the pillow again. “Thanks,” he said, not knowing what else there was to say.

“No problem,” Harry said from beside him, still sounding like a smile.

Then he rolled toward Louis again, and threw his arm over Louis’ bare torso. His giant hand fit almost all around Louis’ ribcage. Louis held his breath, for some reason he didn’t know and didn’t want to.

“Go back to sleep,” Harry murmured from somewhere around Louis’ armpit. His breath was warm against Louis’ skin and Louis was way too sober to deal with this.

He slunk out of Harry’s arm and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Can’t sleep,” he said briskly. “Gotta have tea.”

Harry blinked at him, but didn’t protest. “Okay,” was all he said.

Louis found a pair of joggers and after a moment of consideration, opted for the t-shirt he’d worn the night before. Couldn’t be that gross already, he reasoned.

Niall was up too, apparently. When Louis and Harry emerged he was absorbed in spreading jam on toast, but when he hear them come out of Louis’ room he looked up and got a suspicious look on his face. Louis stared at him and hoped it conveyed the message: don’t be weird.

Thankfully it worked, and Niall chipped, “morning!” before proceeding to eating half of the toast in one go.

It was a quiet breakfast. Harry complimented Niall on the gig, and Niall smiled brightly and soaked the praise in. Louis hummed in agreement and avoided looking at the breadcrumbs at the corner of Harry’s mouth. He drank his tea while it was still too hot and burned his tongue. Harry raised his eyebrows in question when he noticed Louis wincing, but Louis just pointed to the cup.

“Hot,” he explained.

Harry looked like he had a comeback to that, but closed his mouth around it and asked for another piece of toast instead.

When they had eaten and the tea had gone too cold to drink any more of, Harry said slowly, “I guess I should leave.”

Louis ignored the implication of this and nodded.

“I have work to do,” he offered, more like a question than anything else.

Harry nodded. “Of course,” he said, and stood up. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

Louis followed Harry to the door and watched him put his shoes on. In the silence he could hear the shoelaces drag through their holes, a squeaky ritch-ratch kind of sound.

“Tell Alicia I said hi,” he said, just to say something.

Harry glanced up at him between the curls that were falling around his face. “Will do,” he replied.

He stood up and looked at Louis like he was about to ask a question. Louis quickly walked up to him and pulled him into a hug. “Take care,” he said into Harry’s jacket.

“You too,” Harry said. Louis could feel the vibrations from his voice as he spoke and pushed him away.

“Now get away from me,” he said, going for sarcastic but sounding more nervous than anything else. Shit.

Harry smiled at him. “See you later, Lou,” he said. “Bye, Niall!” He waved and Niall mumbled something through a mouthful of toast, and then the door finally closed behind him.

Louis turned around. Niall was smirking at him and Louis braced himself for what was coming.

“So, you and Harry?” Niall waggled his eyebrows.

Louis sighed. “No, not me and Harry. We’re friends.”

Niall looked sceptically at him. “I’ll lose my interest in this will-they-won’t-they trope soon,” he said, and Louis exasperatedly looked up at the ceiling. God give me strength, he thought.

“Good,” he said shortly.

Niall looked like he was about to say something else, but Louis held up his hand to stop him and hurried back to his room. The sheets still smelled vaguely like Harry and it made Louis feel an indescribable feeling. It reminded him of wearing hats his mother knitted for him, and of someone making sure you ate, and of waking up to a “good morning” text. Something like being cared for. He went to sleep feeling like that; safe and cared for.

When he woke up a few hours later he felt less hung over, but still sluggish. He crawled out of bed to go piss and have tea. Niall was on the sofa, reading. Perfect student, Louis thought and grimaced. 

“What book are we reading?” He asked.

“Gatsby,” Niall said with an eye roll.

Louis groaned. “How inventive,” he mumbled.

“Wanna watch the film?” Niall suggested. Louis agreed, even though it hadn’t been that long since he last saw it. He didn’t feel up to reading today.

The last time he’d seen it had been with Stan, though. He saw Gatsby looking at the green light and thought about Stan with a dull ache in his stomach. He saw the extravagant party scenes and thought about Harry and the night before with a feeling he couldn’t place. He saw the flowers and thought, what if I went to such lengths for someone.

The 20s version of Crazy in Love was playing from the tv when his phone buzzed. Harry.

**I posted a review thing about Niall’s gig on my blog**

_**I didn’t know you had a blog?** _

**Just go read it you fake friend it’s inharrysheadphones.tumblr.com**

Louis went and got his computer and ignored Niall side-eyeing him for surfing during the film. He bit his lip as he typed the blog name into the browser. 

_Live: Niall and the Endless Summers_

_Pop music is all about that feeling. Whether it’s feeling like you’re in love, feeling like you’re invincible, or feeling like someone’s put into words something you didn’t even know you felt. That’s what makes pop music important and that’s what makes this gig one of the best I’ve been to. Niall and the other boys are all very good with their instruments, and their lyrics aren’t half bad, but there’s more to it than that._

_I have this friend who doesn’t like twee because he says it’s too sweet to be real. I disagree. There’s boldness in being so unabashedly sweet, not hiding behind distortion or a careless attitude. Twee is fearless as fuck. Twee says: I’m here, I’m cute, and I care. Deal with it. Niall and the Endless Summers pull all that off, with an endless amount of That Feeling. I enjoyed it immensely._

_Do you have the guts to join me?_

Louis stared at the screen. Okay. He felt like he’d been insulted, but he wasn’t sure exactly why. He shut his laptop and went to make tea.

In the end, he thought: Gatsby is great because it’s not a love story. It’s a story about how love is an illusion and you only want what you don’t have. When people are real, the illusion breaks, and you move on to wanting something else. Gatsby is great because there’s no unrealistic happy ending. Love kills, like Robyn sings.

When the movie was over Louis rose and went to do the washing up. Niall raised an eyebrow in question at him. Louis pretended like he didn’t see it. He let the water get too hot and revelled in how blood rushed to his hands as he scrubbed away.

*

It’s amazing what missing a week of lectures can do for your already non-existent study motivation. If there’s a negative of nothing, that’s what it does. Louis went to lectures and had no idea what was going on; he spent most of them scrolling through Twitter and texting Harry.

**_we’re supposed to be reading Gatsby :/_ **

**I thought you liked Gatsby?**

**_yeah but it’s such a staple choice. Whatever. How are you?_ **

**fine, thanks. Alicia says hello btw.**

Louis felt a twist in his stomach. **_say hello back ☺_**

**Did you ever read my review?**

Louis shut his phone off and told himself he really needed to focus on the lecture. I’ll reply later, he told himself. 

*

He never prioritised reading Gatsby, and when Louis trudged off for book club that week it was the first time he showed up unprepared. He’d be lying if he told himself he wasn’t nervous to see Zayn, but there he was, thinking he was fine. 

_I’m good_ , he thought. _I’m all right._

Liam was already there, sitting at the end of the table with his hands neatly folded together and a business-like face on. Louis’ hands were trembling when he pulled a chair out, painfully aware of Zayn in the corner of his eye but careful not to look directly at him. When he’d sat down, however, he couldn’t help but glance over. Zayn gave him a short nod and small smile. Louis nodded back and down at the table.

Zayn seemed very collected. Maybe it was a professor thing. Maybe the diploma includes a never-ending supply of chill. Louis could use some of that.

Niall stormed in with his guitar on his back and rosy cheeks. “Sorry I’m late,” he panted.

“Not at all,” Zayn said mildly. “We were just about to start. Have a seat.”

Niall nodded and sat down next to Louis. “All right?” He whispered. Louis knew what he was thinking, but really, what was Louis supposed to say right now if he wasn’t all right?

“Yeah, fine,” he whispered back.

“So,” Zayn said loudly, “what does everyone have to say about Gatsby?”

“It’s so nice to read someone who knows how to use a semicolon,” Liam said, in that better-than-thou tone Louis despised.

He would come up with a bitchy reply, but he couldn’t be bothered with that today. He sighed and hoped they would just move on and get this over with. 

Zayn smiled at Liam, though. “You say that as if semicolons are a lost art,” he said in an amused tone.

“Aren’t they, though?” Liam persisted.

“I don’t suppose you’ve read Harry Potter?” Zayn retorted. “JK Rowling may have a few faults, but her semicolons are on point.”

Liam left his mouth open but didn’t say anything. Louis shot him a triumphant grin. Ha. That’s what you get for being pretentious.

After that, Niall raised his hands and started on the American Dream, the shit you always get in a Gatsby discussion, and Louis tried to zone out. He stared at the table, pondering if he should write something on it, but he was all too aware of Zayn’s presence in the room. Not in the same way he’d been before; there was no want. He just remembered very well what had happened the last time he was in this room. And how it had made him feel.

“What do you think, Louis?” Zayn’s voice sounded forced to Louis, like he was trying hard to not be awkward. Maybe that was just Louis hearing what he wanted to hear.

“Love kills,” he said without thinking. He could hear Niall make a surprised noise beside him, but he went on, “that’s what Gatsby’s story tells us. It’s not romantic. Romance doesn’t exist. It’s clear, isn’t it? Gatsby is stuck in his illusion, thinking Daisy is the answer to everything, but she isn’t.” He drew his breath and ignored the feeling of everyone staring at him, still talking to the table. “There’s no perfect love. Just illusion.”

“Some people think it’s romantic that Gatsby is waiting–“ Liam started, but Louis slammed his fist on the table with a force that surprised even himself.

“No,” he growled. “It’s not romantic.”

He could feel something rising in his chest, like he was going to be sick. Niall’s hand reached out for his shoulder, but Louis shrugged it away and stood up. “Excuse me,” he mumbled.

And without waiting to hear if he could be excused, he left.

It was cold outside. Really cold. Louis should have been wearing mittens, he thought briefly as he folded his hands into the sleeves of his jumper.

He’d forgotten to put his earphones in before he left the building and it was too cold to get them out. So he just walked, faster than his laziness usually allowed, listening to his shoes meeting the snow with a creaking sound. Was his breathing always this loud? Maybe it was a little faster than usual; maybe that’s why the sound seemed so overwhelming.

When he got home he went straight for the kettle. While waiting for the water to boil he got his phone out. There was a text from Niall saying he’d be home soon. Louis considered texting someone else, but who would that be? The last text in his and Harry’s convo was about that review. The last text in his and Stan’s convo Louis didn’t even want to look at.

Louis put his phone on the counter and just watched the kettle until it was done.

Niall came home when Louis was half-way through his tea. He’d been sitting on the kitchen counter, just staring into space, and the sound of the door opening startled him. He jumped down and brought his tea with him to the hallway.

“You all right?” Niall asked as he started untying his shoes.

“Don’t get undressed,” Louis said. “We’re going out.”

Niall stopped his movements and looked at Louis. “We are?”

Louis took a sip of tea and nodded. “I feel fine, but I want to get sloshed. Please?”

Niall sighed, but he put his shoes back on. “Okay. But if you’re lying about being fine, I’m not taking care of you.”

Louis rolled his eyes. He was absolutely fine.

A few hours later, however, Louis was not fine and Niall was taking care of him, despite his earlier statement. Louis was half-lying on Niall’s lap and vaguely aware of Niall’s hands stroking him in a comforting manner as he cried into his jeans.

“Harry doesn’t know how shit I am,” he slurred wetly against the fabric. “He’s so… lovely.”

“Shh,” Niall said and patted his head. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Louis sobbed, “nothing is okay.”

Niall didn’t say anything to that.

When Louis woke up in his bed the next morning he had no recollection of how he got there. Ouch. There was a glass of water on the windowsill and a bucket on the floor by his head. Oh boy. Carefully, he tried moving, but his body protested wildly. With a lot of effort he managed to drink some water before falling back on the pillow.

Hopefully he hadn’t done anything too bad the night before. But, knowing himself, he probably had. He groaned and pressed the heel of his hands into his eyes. Fuck.

He kept his eyes closed until he slipped back into sleep. No painful reality there.

The next time he woke up, Niall was sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Hey,” he rasped. “What’s up?”

Niall looked at him very seriously. “Are you okay?” He asked.

Louis felt an uncomfortable twist in his stomach. “Yeah, fine.” 

Niall shook his head. “Mate, I love you, but you need to sort yourself out,” he said.

Louis’ head was pounding. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You were a mess last night,” Niall said. “It’s not sustainable.”

Louis swallowed. “What did I do?”

“You were crying,” Niall started, and Louis closed his eyes. Shit. “And you were talking about Stan, and Harry.” 

Fuck. Louis opened his eyes again and folded his arms across his chest. “What about them?” he said, silently praying that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded.

“It was kind of hard to understand you,” Niall said, “but I got enough to realize that you need to talk to Stan. Properly. And whatever it is with Harry, you need to sort out how you feel about him.”

“I don’t feel anything about him,” Louis responded automatically.

Niall quirked an eyebrow. “Is that why he slept in your bed instead of the sofa? After you two snogged each other’s faces off?”

Louis felt his ears go hot. “We didn’t snog each other’s faces off,” he mumbled. “I still have my face, so that’s clearly a lie.”

Niall sighed. “Point still stands,” he said. “You went on about him when you were smashed. That says something.”

Right. The people you think about when drunk are the ones that really mean something. Supposedly.

Louis swallowed again, even though his mouth was dry, trying to give himself some more time. “Okay,” he said finally. “I’ll try to sort things out.”

“Good lad,” Niall said and patted his shoulder.

Louis looked up at him and found his eyes before adding, “sorry about last night.”

Niall smiled. “It’s okay. I knew what I was getting into.”

Louis should be annoyed at how well Niall could read him, but he didn’t have it in him. It was actually nice to have someone look after him. He smiled back. “Thank you,” he said. “I love you.”

Niall’s smile got so big and bright Louis could have written a poem about it, had he been a writer. “Love you too,” Niall replied, despite already having said that earlier.

Niall was just so openly affectionate in a way Louis never seemed to pull off. He’d gotten used to it from Niall, he could receive it without too much discomfort, but it was still a lot for him to explicitly say he loved them.

Louis asked Niall to press play on his stereo when he left. The cd in it was the one he’d gotten from Harry. When the first song started playing, Louis closed his eyes, and when Niall softly shut the door behind him, he started thinking about Harry.

He’d promised Niall he would deal with it.

*

Somehow Louis thought listening to Harry’s mix cd would help him magically reach a conclusion. But he’d listened to the songs so much they were already part of him, and didn’t lead to any new thoughts.

He still listened to all of it, partly because he was too hung over to move much, before crawling up to make tea. Clumsier than usual because of the hangover, he almost poured boiling water on his hand. His body felt heavy and tired, but through the nausea he was determined to reach a conclusion. Niall was right; this wasn’t sustainable. He hated to admit it, but his life the past few weeks had been a mess. Tragic in a completely unpoetic way.

So he brought his laptop, sat down on the sofa and thought for a second before typing in the search bar.

He sat and stared at the results without clicking on them for a few minutes. Was this really what his life had come to? Looking for answers on fucking Google?

Apparently so. He blew on his tea and took a cautious sip before clicking on the first result. “My mother always told me people of the opposite sex can’t be friends. And you know what? She’s right.” Louis clicked out of it as fast as he could. Someone needs to stop the straights, he thought. This was not helpful in any way.

Against better knowledge he clicked on a quiz next.

_What are you thinking when your best friend is talking to you?_

Begrudgingly Louis clicked “I love when they talk to me, I feel so special.” He took a deep breath.

_Do you often have dreams of kissing your best friend?_

Louis stared at the screen. What a rude question. How was he supposed to know? Also… He had kissed Harry. And liked it. And it hadn’t been weird. And he would do it again. But then again, Louis kissed Stan several times, and he wasn’t in love with him, so maybe it didn’t mean anything?

He clicked “yes” anyway.

_If your best friend told you they had started dating someone, how would you feel?_

Louis felt his stomach drop. He didn’t have to imagine Harry kissing someone else to know he’d be jealous, but he did anyway, and it made him feel cold.

He hurried through the rest of the questions, answering them based on gut feeling, but he already knew what his result would be. That didn’t make it any easier to see, though.

_You are in love with your best friend. Look for signs that they’re into you and tell them how you feel._

“Niall!” Louis yelled.

Niall appeared from his room and rubbed his eyes, like he’d been sleeping. How dare he sleep when Louis was taking life-changing quizzes on the internet?

“This quiz says I’m in love with Harry,” Louis said in an indignant tone.

“I never could have guessed,” Niall said sarcastically and sat down next to Louis. “But what do you think, though?” He added in a softer voice. Sweet Niall.

Louis groaned. “I don’t know. I just… He’s just…”

“So lovely?”

Louis stared at Niall. “That’s cheesy, even for you.”

Niall’s lips quirked up and he smiled knowingly. “It was you who said it, not me. Last night.”

Louis hid his face in his hands. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “The quiz is right. Fuck.”

Niall wrapped his arms around him and Louis let himself be hugged, soft and pliant in Niall’s arms. At least he had Niall who he had never and would never mess around with.

“It’s okay,” Niall said into his shoulder. “You’ll survive, I promise.”

Louis snorted. “Don’t be so dramatic, Niall,” he said. His voice sounded a lot fonder than he had originally planned. Crap.

“Says you,” Niall shot back, similarly without bite.

Louis held on to the hug for minutes, savouring the last few minutes before he’d have to think up a way to handle this mess. He’d rather stay in Niall’s arms for a bit, thanks.

*

Louis opened his window, sat down on the windowsill, and lit a cigarette. The window frame dug into his bum but he needed to do this anyway. He was playing Harry’s cd again. _Tunes for Lou._ The title made him smile, and the smile made him shake his head and look up at the sky.

His hands were cold and shaking, but it felt appropriate. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart were singing at him from his stereo inside.

_Are you with me? I’m with you, and there’s nothing left to do. I want everything with you._

The guitar solo in the song was short and simple but Louis felt like it summed things up perfectly. 

Things can be sweet. They don’t have to be complicated.

He threw his cigarette butt out into the snow and closed the window with stiff hands. As he rubbed them together to get some circulation back, he walked across the room to look at the cover Harry had made for the cd.

Then he sat down on his bed, took a deep breath, and pulled up his and Harry’s text conversation. He wrote and deleted a few texts before settling on what to write and pressing send before he had time to change his mind.

**_I liked your review. Maybe I’m wrong about twee_ **

Then he threw the phone across the room to get rid of his nervousness. 

It didn’t work.

The reply came almost immediately, a hard buzz against the floor, and Louis had to get up to retrieve it. Once he’d sat down on his bed again, he opened it with his heart racing.

**Thanks ☺ and yeah, I think you’re wrong. Just my opinion tho**

Louis looked at the smiley face for a while before he caught himself smiling back at it and threw his phone away again. Thank god he had a sturdy phone case.

He left his room and went to knock on Niall’s door. Niall opened it in just his boxers.

“What do you want now?” He grumbled.

“Thanks for your overwhelming support, mate,” Louis snapped before he could think. “Sorry, I mean, sorry to disturb you, but it’s important.”

Niall perked up. “What is it?”

“Does your stereo have a cassette player?”

Niall looked confused, but nodded. “Yeah… Why?”

Louis grinned. “I’m making Harry a mixtape.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait! [here](http://inharrysheadphones.tumblr.com/post/105114895370/live-niall-and-the-endless-summers) is harry's blogpost (yes i made him a blog what) thanks for reading, love u, i promise the next chapter won't take as long :) xx


	8. Love is a mixtape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Louis makes a mixtape.

There were no cassette tapes in WH Smith. 

Louis went through the entire store, leaving a trail of melted snow behind him, and he checked next to the cd’s three times.

Maybe he should have made a cd.

Dejected, Louis had to admit defeat. He bought some safety pins, because the person behind the register was looking funny at him, and said he didn’t need a bag. The safety pins rattled in his pocket the entire way home.

He got home to a quiet flat and an empty Pot Noodle container on the kitchen table. Louis got his laptop and sat down on the sofa and figured out that yes, Amazon does have cassette tapes. Excellent. He ordered five of them, and also a book called Love is a mixtape, while he was at it. Perhaps he’d learn something.

When he got his order confirmation and could close the tab, he opened Spotify to figure out which songs should go on the tape. Something Kesha, definitely. And some twee. He made a mental note to ask Niall for a demo of his songs, put one of them on there.

He could hear the sweet melodies in his head, and subsequently remember Harry’s mouth on his. Louis started grinning without being able to help it, then rolled his eyes at himself. How could he not have realised at the time?

By the time Louis went to bed that night, there were over 50 songs on a playlist called “otp: harry + headphones”. He thought that might make Harry smile. He hoped it would. He was smiling, anyway.

*

In the few days it took for the tapes to arrive, Louis made a decision.

The decision was made in about five seconds. He was back on the sofa in Niall’s band’s rehearsal space, tapping his fingers against a book in his bag, looking down on the floor, and listening to the band trying to work out the kinks in a new song called Open Waters. The book he was tapping on was Great Expectations. It was from the library. Every tap was a reminder that he should be reading, to avoid showing up unprepared again.

He stopped tapping when he thought: what if I don’t show up? It’s an extra activity that I don’t have to be doing.

The mere thought made him feel lighter; it was not a difficult decision to make. Louis stopped tapping and looked up at Niall and his boys with a grin.

“Sounding great, lads,” he said even though no one asked him. Niall smiled and he thought he could see Ashton give him a thumbs up behind the drums.

Louis felt his shoulders relax and thought that maybe life could be easy.

*

Niall’s room smelled vaguely like dirty socks but mostly like fabric softener. He had a fuzzy blanket on the bed, a Vaselines poster on the wall, and his legs crossed in front of him while Louis tried to figure out how to get music from a cd to a tape.

“Niall,” he said over his shoulder. “Is this the right button?” He pointed to the button that said REC with a red dot next to it.

Niall looked up from the book he was reading and shrugged. “Why don’t you try it? If something goes wrong you can just rewind the tape and start over,” he offered.

“I know that, but thanks,” Louis said. His tone was overly defensive; he hadn’t actually known that.

But he pressed play on the cd, and just before he knew the guitar riff would start, he pressed record. The tape jumped to life in its deck and started spinning, buzzing under the song. Louis looked back at Niall and smiled.

“Success!” He exclaimed and threw his hands up.

Niall rolled his eyes. “Well done, you dramatic,” he said fondly. He closed his book. “So, how are you going to deliver it?”

Louis was bopping his head to the music, tapping the rhythm with his fingers against his thigh like he always did.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “I was thinking of letting the postal service do the hard work for me. Hah, Postal Service. It’s funny cos-“

“I know the Postal Service, Lou, please give me some credit.”

The song ended and Louis hurried to press stop so it wouldn’t start recording the next song on the cd.

“Do you have a demo cd I can borrow?” Louis asked casually. Niall’s face burst into sunshine.

“You want my songs on your mixtape?!”

Louis’ cheeks felt hot. “Well, you know what happened at the gig…”

Niall smirked. “I do know.” He clapped his hands in excitement. “Ah, I can’t believe we’re going to be your song! You’ll ask us to play your wedding, right? I won’t hear of anything else.”

The absence of music combined with this conversation was a lot for Louis to handle. “Please relax, Niall,” he said. “We don’t know how this is going to go yet. Maybe he hates marriage.” Maybe he hates me, Louis thought.

“Oh, please,” Niall waved his hand dismissively. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And I’ve watched enough tv shows to know how this ends.” He smirked and then continued, “we’re doing a gig pretty soon, you should have him come to that. And don’t kick him out this time!”

Louis laughed nervously and shook his head. 

It’s terrible, how much you can hope for something. Louis knew he shouldn’t hang on to Niall’s words so much, knew that they were fantasies and nothing more, but a beacon of hope was already burning in his chest and Niall had thrown kerosene on it.

As it turned out, making a mixtape was a long and sweaty process. Louis spent the better part of an hour trying to get a song to end exactly when the tape did. He redid the last three songs about five times, trying different ones each time to see if they fit better. Rewinding until he heard the tape spinning in his head even when it wasn’t. Recording another few songs. Trying again.

When he gave up there were about seven seconds of silence at the end of side one. The night had snuck up on him, and Niall yawned pointedly.

“Sorry,” Louis mumbled, and took the tape out. He thought it felt a little hot, but maybe that was just his imagination. “I’ll let you live. I can finish this tomorrow, though, right?”

Niall nodded and yawned again. Louis’ limbs were aching when he lifted himself off the floor, having been curled up so long. He stretched his arms a little, reaching for nothing behind his back, before trudging out. Niall followed in his footsteps and disappeared into the bathroom.

Back in his room, Louis put the tape very carefully on his bookshelf in front of Wuthering Heights.

It was late and Louis knew he should sleep. But the tape was still spinning in his head and his fingers were restless. He opened the window and sat himself on the sill, hoping that a cigarette would put him right. The night seemed conspicuous and his fingers stilled in the cold.

He wasn’t at any ease when he closed the window, though. His eyes fell upon the book he’d spontaneously ordered. Love is a mixtape.

It had seemed so poetic when he was doing it, but now that the mixtape was getting to be a real thing it didn’t seem so quaint. What the fuck was he doing? A romantic gesture because he’d let Niall’s talk about Harry get to his head? He flung himself down on the bed and closed his eyes. Immediately he was visited by the memory of Harry sleeping there next to him. He could see Harry’s sleepy, honest face before him. 

He opened his eyes again.

The mixtape lay there on the shelf, as peacefully as any inanimate object would, but Louis felt like it was watching him. Judging him. ‘Why should I get tangled up in your mess of a life?’ He imagined the tape saying. ‘I just want to be filled with music.’

“Sorry I’m such a mess,” Louis whispered, for no one’s ears to hear. Only his own.

Louis woke up the next morning and was immediately reminded that he’d forgot to brush his teeth the night before. He grimaced and stuck his tongue out, as if fresh air would make it less rank. It did not.

The half-done mixtape was still on the shelf, since it was not actually sentient, despite Louis’ imagination. Louis looked at it as he changed clothes – he did not want to spend the day in the ones he’d accidentally slept in, he wasn’t that gross – and a thought struck him.

What if Harry didn’t get it? I mean, Harry had given him a mix cd, this could just be Louis giving something in return. Although Niall had seemed to think the cd was something more.

Louis shook his head, faintly hoping that the rapid fire of question marks would cease. It did not.

He was half-way through preparing breakfast before he realised that Niall’s shoes were gone. The time was half ten; Niall was in a lecture. Louis should have been too. He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged and poured hot water into his cup. Mission mixtape had to take priority, he told himself, and blew miniature waves on the scalding liquid to cool it down. Besides, he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on a lecture anyway.

This time, it only took him two tries to piece together a reasonable ending to the tape. He looked at the tape, turned it over in his hand, felt the plastic against his skin. For some reason he’d expected to feel some sense of accomplishment in finishing it, but he’d just realised that all the hard parts were left.

Such as: how was he supposed to get the tape to Harry? It would make the most sense to post it, but for a few moments, Louis indulged himself in fantasies about dramatic gestures. 

But he couldn’t fill a room with flowers. He couldn’t run through an airport. Technically, he could show up at Harry’s doorstep with rain dripping from his hair and face, but imagining that he started laughing. 

It would have to be a poorly wrapped package with Harry’s address written on it in Louis’ messy handwriting.

Louis put the little stickers that came with the tape on each side, dubbing side A ‘Some Candy Talking’ and side B ‘Rimbaud Eyes’. The ink stained a little, but that was okay. He wrote a tracklist to put inside the case, in as tiny letters as he could so it would fit. It did, but he had to fold it. On an impulse, he went to Niall’s room and stole some glitter to put in it. That seemed like something Harry would like, and if he didn’t, well, Louis was already making an arse of himself so why not fuck it up some more.

He also wrote a note to go with it.

‘Hey, here’s some songs for you. I hope you like me.’

Louis read through the note and realised what he’d written. Christ. His hands were unsteady, but he was decisive when he tore it up and wrote a new one.

*

The sky was a dirty white when Louis made his way to the nearest postbox. He’d forgotten his mittens and was clutching the package with colder and colder hands. His pace was quick and he was staring at the ground. The sound of the package hitting the bottom of the box simultaneously made him feel relieved and even more nervous. It was done now. No takebacks. No return. Nowhere to run.

Louis ran home, rubbing his hands together as he chased the fog of breath in front of him.

When he came home, he put a kettle on first thing. He was a little sweaty from the run but his hands and nose were still feeling icy. As it was boiling, he walked aimlessly around the flat, still rubbing his hands together.

In his room he could see the Love is a mixtape book screaming out at him. Oh well. He might as well read it, since he bought it and everything. The kettle clicked in the kitchen, so Louis grabbed the book and went to make his tea. He sat down on the sofa, and while waiting for the tea to cool, opened the book to its first page. Before he started reading, he smelled it. New book scent didn’t quite fetch him like old book scent, but it was still good. New books smell fresh and promising, like they can’t wait to change your life.

Louis read until he had to turn on the lights. At some point Niall came home, and Louis waved without looking away from the book. He was in it completely; every turning of a page was like touching his own soul. Words and music and love, it was all there, openly bleeding.

_When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other._

It wasn’t that it was that extraordinary, in a strict literary analysis sense. But it was so heartfelt, and Louis knew that every word was true to the author. A more cynical person might have said that duh, obviously it rings true, it _is_ true. How is that so significant?

That person could have been Louis, a while ago. He could hear himself say it in his head, could feel his eyes prepare to roll. But there were other thoughts in his head now, thoughts that overpowered the eye roll.

It’s significant because I feel like it is. What is the point of any art, if it doesn’t invoke some kind of feeling? Sometimes true stories are unbelievable. Sometimes fiction rings the most true of everything. It doesn’t matter that this happened in so-called real life. Louis was sure that if he’d read this book in another timeline, one where this book was completely fictional, it would have read just as true and real and emotive.

It’s all about the feeling.

Louis went to sleep that night with a burning in his eyes and electricity in his skin, feeling like life was so much bigger than he’d previously known. He dreamt that he was in space, snacking on stars and occasionally taking a slice of the moon. In the dream Harry looked at him, scandalised. 

The next day was a Saturday and Louis was still feeling electric. He thought about the tape, which was probably sitting in a post office somewhere, crowded by other packages perhaps, shamelessly rubbing its ink on someone else’s stamp.

There was nothing he could do right now, but he constantly found himself wanting to check his phone to see if Harry had responded. After a few hours of just dicking around on social media and obsessively checking his phone, he decided to watch some Gilmore Girls. That usually calmed him down.

Of course, it didn’t work this time. He was buzzing with the knowledge that one way or another, his relationship with Harry was about to change. Louis didn’t want to hope, but he couldn’t help it. He was hopelessly hopeful and a text from Niall offering beer and good times had never made him more disappointed.

He did go out, though, with Love is a mixtape in his bag for safety. Niall teased him endlessly about checking his phone (“it’s the weekend!”) and he had a stout that was supposed to taste like chocolate.

His Sunday was spent much like his Saturday, only now Gilmore Girls was accompanied by a hangover.

On Monday, he tried to distract himself by going to a lecture. He was vaguely aware that his social life probably should be secondary to his academic career, not the other way around, but it was really hard to care when Harry had reblogged a song to his blog and Louis tried to figure out if it had something to do with him.

By Tuesday, Louis was ready to kick himself in the shins. Why on earth had he thought that this was a good idea? He tried the lecture-as-distraction cure again; it did not work. Someone yelled at him for tapping his pen against his notebook too loudly and he couldn’t come up with a snarky reply, he just apologised and left. 

He’d almost given up on ever talking to Harry again and gotten used to the thought of living his life in shameful loserhood when his phone finally buzzed. Louis almost dropped it in his tea when he hurried to unlock and read the text.

**Thanks for the tape. I liked it**

*

Harry never liked Mondays. He trudged through the rest of the week just fine, and on the weekend tried to have a bit of fun, but on Mondays he kept asking himself: am I really going anywhere? On Mondays, he’d sit down to write yet another review, and be unable to concentrate, plagued by the thought that maybe it was all pointless.

By Monday evening he’d usually managed to push those thoughts aside, thus allowing him to spend the rest of the week ignoring that the future is uncertain. He knew what he wanted it to be; he was just unsure if it was plausible. Sometimes he’d imagine living with his nan for the rest of her life, thinking every year that this year would be his break.

This Monday afternoon was slow, as usual. Harry hadn’t bothered getting dressed and was gliding around the house in big socks, unable to decide what to do. He’d just said goodbye to Alicia, who was going shopping for yarn, when he saw the mailman through the kitchen window. The kettle had just started humming loudly when the mailman was out of sight and Harry felt he could go outside even though he wasn’t wearing trousers.

It was too cold, and Harry ran to the postbox, scrambled for the mail, and ran back with his leg hairs standing fiercely against the chill. There was a package, and Harry assumed it was for Alicia, until he dropped it on the kitchen table and noticed it was for him.

The handwriting didn’t look like his editor’s, though, and he’d gotten a bunch of albums just last week. In fact, the writing in which his address was scribbled looked a lot like the inappropriate words on the table in the library. The table where the book club had been meeting (and probably still were, only Harry wasn’t there to see it).

Louis? 

Harry made his tea, then sat down to open it. There, wrapped in what looked like toilet paper, was a cassette tape. As he freed it from its wrapping, a note came flying out and twirled for a short second before landing on the table.

‘Some songs for you. I hope you like them. Sincerely, Louis.’

Sincerely? That was oddly formal for a mixtape exchange between friends. Then he looked at the title, awkwardly written on the front in what had to be Louis trying to be neat. Otp: Harry + headphones. Harry laughed, almost embarrassed, although there was no need to feel so.

There was a slightly older stereo in the living room, covered in dust from lack of use. Alicia mostly used the radio in the kitchen. Harry bent down to look at it, and as he’d hoped, it had a tape deck. 

When he opened the plastic case, some glitter fell out. Harry smiled and rubbed it between his fingers even though he knew it would stick. He looked at the tape, and he was looking at side B, so he turned it over before gently putting it in. Pressing ‘play’ made a noise, and for a moment Harry held his breath, thinking it didn’t work, that he’d broken the tape. But a moment later, the first song blared out.

The contrast between the lo-fi guitar sound from the stereo and the doilies he was surrounded by was striking. Harry sat down on the floor beside the stereo, close to one of the speakers. He briefly touched the fabric on its front; a habit he had developed because he felt it got him closer to the music.

Harry felt about all songs that they had a secret to them, and it was his goal to decipher it. That was part of his reviewing process, and according to his editor, it was what made him good. He liked to focus on the feeling behind the songs, imagining what a person could have gone through to write a song like that.

Harry was lost in thoughts and only listened with one ear until a very special intro caught his attention. The keyboard sounds the song started with sounded like a sky full of stars burning to their deaths. He listened attentively to the lyrics.

_Not too proud to beg if that’s what I’ve got to do._  
All the things we never spoke of, all the things we should have done.  
Head over heels, but I’m feeling half past dead.  
Darling, don’t get over me, get under me instead. 

He stared at the same dust molecules the entire time the song was playing. They appeared sharp and real, like the song that was burrowing into his conscience, making a home in his blood. When it was over, Harry pressed ‘stop’.

If Louis was playing the game Harry had been, this was… Something. But since when was Louis ‘not too proud to beg’? Louis had never asked anything of Harry before, nothing bigger than a tip for an album to listen to.

Nothing made sense. The silence seemed unnatural now, so Harry pressed play again.

_Heaven knows she’s good for my soul… I should let her know_

What the fuck. What the fuck was this. Harry’s body was restless and he flailed his arms and looked up at the ceiling in exasperation. I hate Louis, he thought, and sighed deeply right after because he very clearly didn’t.

He listened on, trying not to let his jumbled thoughts drown out the music. It was a nice collection of songs, of course it was. When he heard the unmistakable intro to Kesha’s ‘Only Wanna Dance With You’ he smiled. The dance floor at Niall’s gig came back to him, sticky lips and electric air between Louis and him. Thinking about it made him feel as if the air had been sucked out of his lungs, compressing his chest until it was too small to contain his feelings.

By the end of the tape Harry was emotionally exhausted. He was torn between thinking that this was it, Louis liked him, finally, and the feeling that it was too late.

The last song on the tape was called ‘Every Record, Every Book’ and made it abundantly clear what Louis was doing.

_Every record, every book and magazine_  
Every picture, every bar I’ve ever been to  
Led me straight to you  
Can you feel it too? 

This collection of songs sounded a lot like love songs, some more than others, and Harry should be happy about this, feel that they fit perfectly since apparently they communicated in the same way, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit cheap.

That mix cd had been so blatant; at least he’d thought so. And there’d been no response. He’d invited Louis here, thinking that maybe if they spent time alone something might happen, and nothing. He’d thought his gut feeling about them was wrong and questioned everything. But then the gig had happened and Harry thought that was it, thought that they’d finally fallen together. And Louis had thrown him out. In a subtle and polite way, but still, that was a pretty clear message.

And now this? Harry’s head was spinning. He went to bed feeling anxious like he hadn’t done in a long time and had to turn the pillow over because it was too hot countless times before he finally passed out.

*

“Are you okay, love?” Alicia asked Harry and nudged the jam in his direction. Harry was looking at his toast, which was only getting colder and less appetising every second. The sound of her voice startled him and he looked up, embarrassed.

“Yeah, no, sorry,” he mumbled. “Have some stuff on my mind, is all.”

Alicia put her hand over his and stroked it gently with her thumb. “Do you want to talk about it, darling?”

Harry swallowed. There were a lot of things to say, but he couldn’t think of any of them. He looked at her and smiled weakly. 

“I don’t know what to say,” he said truthfully. “Thanks, though.”

She nodded and removed her hand. “Now eat your toast,” she said and pointed at it.

Harry sighed and ate his cold toast.

When he was done with breakfast, he retreated to his room, supposedly to work on a review. He got as far as putting the album on as background noise for turning the tape over in his hands, reading over the tracklist, getting glitter on his shirt.

The music in the background was some dude whining and playing guitar, but all Harry could hear, on repeat in his head, was that line from that song.

_Can you feel it too?_

He felt it. God, he felt it so much. He just wasn’t sure what it was that Louis felt.

Eventually the album ended. Harry’s hands had smudged the ink the tracklist was written in and as much as he wanted to throw his heart at Louis one more time, he couldn’t bear to do that. He got his phone out and typed out about a dozen texts before pressing send with his eyes closed.

**_Thanks for the tape. I liked it_ **

He exhaled and decidedly turned his phone off. There was a whiny acoustic album he needed to write about, so he willed himself not to think about Louis and did just that.

*

Eventually, he had to turn his phone back on. He didn’t know what he was hoping for, but he knew it wasn’t what awaited him.

**I’m so glad. Hey, wanna come to Niall’s gig next week?**

Harry’s stomach twisted. He wanted to see Louis, but he also never wanted to see him again. Everything was too confusing and Harry would have preferred achieving the impossible; forgetting that Louis existed and living his life without longing. He tried to refocus the memories from the first gig, zoom out from Louis’ lips and zoom in on Niall bouncing on stage, singing sweet tunes.

As if he had it in him to say no.

_**I’ll be there. Where is it?** _

He wondered if Louis noticed that his tone was short. Maybe it wasn’t in the text, but it sounded grumpy in his head. Feelings, he thought. What are they good for? Doing stupid things, probably.

Harry sighed and started considering what to wear.

*

The trainride was uneventful and smelled like piss. Harry realised that he’d need somewhere in town to sleep, and ignored the twist in his stomach at the thought of sleeping in Louis’ bed. He texted Liam. Liam would of course accommodate Harry, and also asked to come along. Naturally Harry said yes, and let out a tiny sigh because he remembered how hard Louis usually rolled his eyes at Liam. The fact that Harry usually agreed whenever Louis did that was neither here nor there.

No one was there when Harry got to the club, called Brass something. The stamp was a monkey. Harry neglected to put his coat in the closet and went straight for the bar. The place was almost empty, he was so early, and the bartender looked at him with a hint of pity in their eyes when he ordered a double rum and coke. Christ.

Harry took his drink and sat down. Pros to coming to a place ridiculously early: there are places to sit. He kept a steady stream of drink through the straw, sucking and scrolling twitter until he was out of breath and only one third of the drink was left.

Just when he was about to order a pint to follow, Liam tapped his shoulder and grinned widely.

“Hey bro, how are you?”

Harry was about to hug Liam when he realised that Liam was holding a closed fist, waiting for him to bump it, so he awkwardly did and then smiled back.

“I’m good, thanks. How are you?”

Just then the bartender gave him his change back, so he held a hand up to pause Liam’s response, and told the bartender thank you before turning his eyes back to Liam.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Liam said. “Been reading a lot of Bukowski lately.”

This made Harry happy. “Really?! Let’s sit down and talk about it, I had a table over there.”

Liam laughed. “Let me get a pint first, I’ll be right there.”

Harry went back to secure their table and in a minute, Liam joined him.

“So,” Liam said and takes a sip of his beer. “Bukowski a favourite of yours, then?”

Harry nodded. “Definitely. It’s a lot of bullshit, but at the same time he completely lacks bullshit, you know?”

Liam furrowed his eyebrows. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean,” he said.

Louis would have, Harry thought before he could stop himself. He sighed. “Never mind that, then. What are your thoughts?”

He tried to listen closely to Liam’s answer, he really did, but he also had a lot of focus on the corner of his eyes, where he could see the entrance and the slow trickling of people arriving. Many tote bags but none of them were Louis’.

“Mhm,” Harry said to whatever Liam was talking about, and tried to refocus his eyes on Liam. Liam didn’t look impressed with Harry’s efforts.

“Waiting for someone?” He asked, and nodded his head toward the door.

Harry’s face felt hot. He hurried to take a drink. “No,” he said, but he hadn’t closed his mouth around the word before his eyes strayed to the entrance again.

Louis wasn’t wearing anything particularly eye-catching, but Harry recognised his body language. He walked swiftly and surely, like he was in the exact right place at the exactly right time. Harry turned his head to avoid being caught looking, but one glance at Liam told him that was a lost cause. Liam smirked.

“I see,” he said. “Interesting.”

“It’s not what you think,” Harry began, but how was he supposed to continue? “I don’t know. Please be cool.”

“I promise I’ll be cool,” Liam said quietly, “and I hope you will too, because he’s coming over.”

Harry slowly turned his head again, only to come face to crotch with Louis.

“Hi,” he said to the blue denim. It would probably go nicely with his red cheeks, he thought briefly.

“All right, lads?” Louis sounded chipper, but his voice was slightly high-pitched, like it only got when he was nervous. “May I sit down?”

Harry looked up at his face. Louis was smiling, but his teeth looked tense. “Of course,” Harry said. He looked to Liam for stability. “Liam?”

“Sure thing, Louis,” Liam said, with one eyebrow raised. 

Louis clapped his hands together. “Great! I’ll go get a pint, then.” He turned on his heel and Harry allowed himself to exhale and tried not to stare too much at Louis’ bum.

“You all right there, Harry?” Liam smirked and Harry took and deep breath.

“Fine,” he said shortly, and delved deep into his pint. It was already a rough night, and it had barely started.

When Louis got back a few minutes later, licking along the side of glass to catch the spill, he decidedly sat down next to Liam. Opposite Harry.

“So,” he said, and his glass clanked against the table. “How is everyone?”

“Great,” Harry said quickly. “Fantastic.” He delved into his glass again. If he kept this up he’d need a new one soon. Good, a chance to leave.

Louis’ smile only faltered for a microsecond before he turned to Liam. “What about you, Payno? Any exciting new literary ventures?”

Liam grimaced. “Don’t call me Payno,” he said. “But I’m fine, thanks. Book club is really quiet now we’re only two students.”

“Ah,” Louis said and clicked his tongue, “but I bet you don’t mind having more of Zayn’s attention.”

“Speak for yourself,” Liam bit back, but he was definitely blushing. Harry could feel a smile start to form, but he didn’t know if he should smile or not. “Anyways,” Liam continued, “we were just discussing Bukowski. Any thoughts, _Tommo_?”

As predicted, Louis rolled his eyes. “Bag of dicks,” he said simply, and drank some beer.

That shouldn’t make Harry’s stomach swoop.

“What did you have to say, then?” Louis said and waved his beer in Harry’s direction. “You like old Charlie?”

Harry swallowed. “I do, yeah,” he said, trying to sound normal. Louis’ face went serious then. “I feel like,” he continued, “like he knows things about life that I don’t. And I get to live them through his writing.”

There was silence between them, but the DJ had turned the music up and Morrissey was crooning about desolate hillsides. Louis kept his gaze on Harry. Harry didn’t know where to look.

Liam cleared his throat. “Did anyone watch Game of Thrones?”

Thankful for the interruption in whatever was going on, Louis turned to answer him, and Harry stood up to get another beer.

By the time the odd trio made their way to the stage, Harry had managed to smile at Louis and watch his eyes light up. Fuck.

Niall and the boys were on point this time too. Harry tried his best to get swept away by the music, but his feet and his soul were firmly stuck to the sticky floor. It didn’t look very clean.

Louis looked at him and smiled. Harry smiled back, then bit his lip.

This was surreal and not entirely nice.

When the last song had been played, and Niall had thanked everyone profusely, there was a dance floor happening again. Louis danced up to Harry, as if it was obvious that they’d do this, and Harry remembered last time all too clearly. He cast an apologetic look at Liam, who shrugged and made his way to the bar.

It took about one song for Louis to make a move. He danced closer and closer, Harry could feel the heat from his body even though they weren’t touching, and when the first few chords of Just Like Heaven vibrated through the smokey air he leaned forward, so slowly it could have been in slow motion. It felt like an eternity before they touched skin.

But there it was, the faintest brush of Louis’ lips against his own, and Harry’s entire being wanted to give in, take whatever Louis would give him, but he knew he’d hate himself if he did. So he summoned all his willpower and gently pushed Louis away. He tried to commit to memory the feel of Louis’ chest under his t-shirt before taking his hands off him.

Louis looked at him, surprised and unsure. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I thought…”

“Let’s not do this here,” Harry interrupted him.

Louis gaped, then closed his mouth. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s go outside?”

Harry nodded and started to zig-zag his way between dancing people and try to avoid stepping on anyone’s bag. When he was out of the worst crowd, he turned his head. Louis was still right behind him.

He offered a weak smile to Harry. Harry shrugged and walked on, out into the freezing air, past the smoking area, until they were alone.

Louis had his hands in his pockets and looked at Harry with an expression that was about as far from eye-rolling as Harry had ever seen it. His mischief was usually evident under the surface at all times. Not now. Harry shook his head to get rid of these irrelevant thoughts. He had something to say, dammit. He took a deep breath.

“I don’t get it,” he started, and once the first words were out, all of them came spilling. “You don’t respond to my advances, then you kiss me, and then you act as if it never happened, and then,” deep breath, “then you send me a mixtape that could be a romantic gesture but also could not, and now what? You were going to kiss me and diss me again?”

Louis shook his head. “I meant– The tape, I, it was meant as. You know. A romantic gesture.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. Louis was chewing on his bottom lip. “So what, you’ve decided you like me now?” It came out harsher than Harry had intended; a stark contrast to the gentle hope in his heart.

“Not decided,” Louis said quietly. “Realised.” He looked down.

Harry’s stomach was hurting. “Realised,” he repeated, trying to grasp it. “Well, I’m afraid that realisation came too late, Lou.”

Louis’ mouth was open. “I’m–“ he started, but Harry didn’t have the energy to be strung along any more. He turned around and started walking.

“Good night,” he called over his shoulder. It sounded sadder than he had intended. 

He didn’t look back to see Louis’ reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry this took so long!! the next chapter will not take three months, cross my heart and hope to die.
> 
> i feel that the most important song for this chapter is 'every record, every book' by andreas mattsson, but also 'darling' by wild at heart. [here is the mixtape in spotify form!](https://open.spotify.com/user/drickerte/playlist/5UAIRKW1gsvEfIkij1oD5n)
> 
> thank you so much for reading :) xx


	9. Page 78

Harry had ‘If you’re feeling sinister’ on repeat for two days. He kept seeing Louis’ face in his dreams, that face he’d never seen before. The vulnerable one. 

Sleeping was not as relaxing as it could have been.

He walked in the forest, headphones stretched over his knitted beanie, and pretended Louis had never been there. He re-watched Kill your darlings. He bought a pack of Marlboro lights, even though he couldn’t really afford that, and smoked with coughs that could have been mistaken for sobs.

Alicia told him off for smoking and he threw the rest of the pack away.

On the third day, he told himself to get a grip and get some work done. He exchanged the Belle and Sebastian cd in his stereo for an album he was meant to review, and sat down at his computer.

While he listened for the first time, he scrolled through Tumblr, waiting for a feeling from the album to hit him and give him something to write about. He’d just reblogged a gifset of The National when he came across a quote that made the air twist in his lungs.

_When we die, we will turn into songs, and we will hear each other and remember each other._

‘Love is a mixtape’ it said under it. Love. Mixtape. When we die. The words were swirling inside Harry, making a home there, and he didn’t know how to breathe any more. Desperate for some kind of answer, he googled the book title, and finding out what it was about hit him even harder.

It was about someone the author loved who died, and the book was him remembering their life together through mixtapes.

Harry stood up and walked over to his bed, where the mixtape Louis had given him was laying on the bedside table. He picked it up and could have sworn he felt tiny heartbeats under the plastic. They still had life. Louis and Harry were alive, and Harry’s music had stopped playing but that didn’t matter.

He didn’t want to wait until he’d died and become a song before Louis heard him.

His jeans were tight, but he squeezed the tape into the pocket before walking down the stairs to find Alicia in the living room. She opened her mouth to say something, but Harry spoke first.

“Do you have a book you’re not reading?” he asked, and started looking in the bookcase without waiting for a reply. “I want to give it away, just so you know,” he continued, and found a book with a worn paperback spine.

“Not that one,” Alicia said, and got up to help him. “What’s going on, love?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can explain right now,” he said truthfully. “I will later, though, I promise.”

She looked confused, but gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before examining the bookcase again.

“Aha!” She exclaimed. “This one, you can do what you want with. I don’t want to read it again and it’s not very pretty either.”

The book was a bright pink and speckled with dust. Its title read ‘The Language of Love: How To Communicate Successfully With Your Partner’. Harry laughed.

“Thank you,” he said, and clutched the book to his chest. “This is perfect.”

Alicia smiled knowingly. “I look forward to hearing your explanation,” she said, her tone amused.

Harry was already on his way and almost didn’t hear her.

Back in his room, he found a black pen with a thin tip. He opened the book to a random page and began circling words. When he was done, he looked at the page number, and on the dedication page he scribbled it down. Page 78. Surely Louis would find and understand his message; he’d literally spelled it out for him.

*

Louis didn’t usually get a lot of mail. Sometimes his mum sent him cookies, but anything else addressed to Louis Tomlinson was usually a bill. Which is why he wasn’t overly excited when he was interrupted in his reading by the mail thumping down on the carpet in the hallway. He finished the chapter before deciding he’d have tea, and while the water was boiling, he went to pick up the mail. Beside the electricity bill and a magazine Niall subscribed to, there was a slim package. Curious, Louis picked it up and turned it over to see who it was for.

It was for him.

Louis got the rest of the mail and as he walked to the kitchen, felt it. It felt like a book. He put the other mail down on the kitchen table and turned it over.

This package did not look like it came from his mum.

The kettle clicked, because his water was done, but Louis had his hands full of tape and hard paper. When he’d finally gotten the book out, he paused for a second. ‘The Language of Love: How To Communicate Successfully With Your Partner’. 

Confused as to who could have sent him this, he opened it to the dedication page.

_Page 78. Harry xx_

Louis’ heart leapt out of his chest and touched the ceiling. Harry? He quickly turned to page 78 with nervous, sweaty fingers.

Harry had drawn in the book. Circles around letters. Louis started at the first circled letter, put his finger on the page and followed them, silently forming his mouth to say them.

When he got to the last one, his heart was in the sky.

He decided in about a microsecond what he would do. The clothes he was wearing would have to suffice, but he got his tote bag and put the book in it, along with the book he’d been reading. When he was tying his shoelaces, the first hint of a doubt caught up with him.

Turning up at someone’s door is so dramatic, his inner critic told him. Shut up, he said back to it. He sent me a book circling the letters spelling out what he wanted to say; I think I can afford to be a bit dramatic.

So he texted Niall that he was going out, not knowing when he’d be back, and set off for the train station.

Louis meant to read on the train, but he couldn’t keep his mind in any other reality than his own. All he could do was listen to Allo Darlin and eat breath mints. He really, really wanted a cigarette. When he got off the train his mouth was so cold from all the mint it actually hurt. He lit a cigarette, thought maybe that would neutralise the mint, and started walking.

He walked briskly past the cute little houses, feeling electric all over. This couldn’t have been a misunderstanding. Harry had literally spelled it out.

_I still want you._

He knocked on the door. Alicia opened, wearing a checkered apron and a big smile.

“This is a nice surprise!” She opened her arms to give him a hug. He returned it and felt a little bad for looking into the house over her shoulder, hoping he’d see Harry. But it was just a moment, then she released him, and looked curiously at his face.

“Does Harry know you’re coming?”

Louis felt his cheeks heat up. “Er, no, actually.”

“Well, he’s home, so no worries. I think he’s in his room, you can just go up there. Unless you’d rather have tea first?”

Louis wasn’t in the mood for tea. “Thanks, but I’m good. Is it all right if I go up to him now? We’ll catch up later,” he said, and she smiled.

“Of course, love, go on.”

The walk up those stairs was the longest and shortest of Louis’ life. He’d thought about what to say the entire trainride, he was still trying to come up with something, but he had nothing.

Just himself.

After Harry had opened the door, he looked at Louis. Just looked at him, for a good long minute, while Louis tried to breathe evenly. Harry looked lovely, as always; he was in a brown knitted jumper and what Louis was pretty sure was leggings. He seemed to be searching Louis’ face for something, so Louis tried his best to make his face convey what it had taken him so long to even hint at.

_I want you._

“I take it you read the book,” Harry said. His voice sounded hoarse and Louis’ jerked a little at the sudden sound.

He nodded. “Yeah, I thought it was remarkable,” he said, voice coming out a lot more squeaky than he wanted it to. “Clear cut, and with a very, er, powerful message.”

Harry smiled and Louis smiled and it was winter but their faces were sunflowers in bloom, nudging each other in a gentle breeze. 

*

It turned out Harry was indeed wearing leggings. “They’re comfortable!” he exclaimed when Louis raised an eyebrow at him. “Besides, all clothing is gender neutral in my utopia.”

Louis poked his nipple. “In my utopia, you’re never wearing clothes.”

Harry laughed and shook his head, but he was smiling and his eyes were warm. “Who knew you were such a sex beast,” he said, in the kind of voice you use when you don’t dare say what you want, so you joke about it.

“Literally everyone knew that,” Louis replied lightly. “But more seriously, who knew I was missing out on such quality dick all those months?”

That made Harry laugh so loudly Louis wanted to shush him so he didn’t wake Alicia, but he couldn’t bring himself to. 

“Well, I knew,” he said when he’d stopped laughing. “Took you long enough to come around,” he said teasingly and shoved Louis a little.

Louis’ face turned serious. “I know,” he said, “and I’m sorry.”

“It’s all good,” Harry said and planted a kiss on Louis’ head. “You have now, so.”

“I was a bit of a tosser,” Louis said, and he could feel his face start to form a smile, but tried to stay serious. “And I’m sorry.”

“Well, I forgive you,” Harry said, and stroked Louis’ bicep. “Do you work out?”

Louis laughed. “As if,” he said. “I see what you’re doing, and there’s no need. You have me.”

The air between them changed at that. Harry stilled his hand and looked at Louis, sans the smile. 

“Do I really?”

Louis didn’t even tremble. He nodded. “All yours,” he said, and found Harry’s hand and squeezed it. “If you’ll have me, of course,” he added.

Harry breathed out a laughter-like sound, as if in disbelief. “If I’ll have you,” he repeated. “Yeah, I think I will.”

“You _think_?” There was a smile in Louis’ voice now. He lifted Harry’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “How can I make that ‘think’ into a ‘know’?”

There was the slightest hint of blush on Harry’s cheeks. “I do know,” he corrected himself, and giggled when Louis kissed his fingertips. “Christ, I know, stop that.”

Louis looked up at him and grinned. “Good,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to miss out on the blowjob I’m about to give you.”

Harry laughed. “Go on then,” he said. And Louis did.

He’d always liked sucking dick, there was no denying that, but Louis couldn’t recall that it had ever made him feel this happy. Maybe because he’d never cared as much about someone else’s pleasure before. He dug his fingers into Harry’s thighs, swirled his tongue, and wished he had a tape to record every sound Harry was making. That would have been his favourite song.

They fell asleep holding hands with their legs tangled like tree branches in spring and when Louis woke up, his fingers were still laced together with Harry’s, hurting slightly from having been in that position for hours. He gently stretched them out and with a warm feeling in his chest, remembered last night.

Apparently there were good things for Louis in the world.

Harry was still sleeping. He looked peaceful and vulnerable and this time it didn’t make Louis uncomfortable. There was a strand of hair residing dangerously close to his mouth, so Louis took his other hand and went to remove it. As soon as he touched Harry’s face, he opened his eyes. There was a second of confusion before he saw Louis and smiled.

“Why are you touching my face,” he rasped.

Louis’ earlobes felt hot. “There was a hair thing,” he said in his hoarse morning voice.

His hand was still on Harry’s face. “Okay,” Harry said.

The sleepy smile on his face made Louis’ insides feel like hot chocolate, sweet and just below the amount of heat where you burn your tongue.

People say ‘good morning’ every morning even if they’re not good at all. But this morning, waking up naked, pliant, and smiling, with the person Louis liked. This was truly a good morning.

Alicia hugged Louis when they finally went downstairs for breakfast (even though it was closer to lunchtime).

“I’m happy for you,” she said and winked.

“How did you–?” Harry started, and Alicia laughed.

“I can put two and two together, you know,” she said and smirked. 

Louis could feel a blush coming on and busied himself with filling the kettle; only it turned out to already have hot water in it. Harry glanced at him and giggled, and Louis pursed his lips in an embarrassed smile.

Alicia sat with them during their late breakfast, even though she’d already had hers hours ago. She asked Louis about what he was reading (The Secret History) and how he was doing, and Harry interjected to tell Louis about his next album review. It was easy, to fall into the comfort Louis had felt the last time he visited. Except how this time he was more than comfortable – he was happy. He felt like there’d come a spring after this winter after all.

When they were close to finished, Harry cleared his throat and looked at Louis. “I was thinking,” he started, and his eyes darted to Alicia. “Thinking that we could go to yours maybe?”

“Today?” Louis asked.

Harry nodded.

“That sounds like a great idea, love,” Alicia said. “You go have some private time.”

Louis felt that irritating blush make itself known again. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

When they hugged goodbye, Alicia put her hands on Louis’ shoulders and looked him in the eyes sternly. “I’m glad you chose each other,” she said. 

Louis swallowed and tried not to blink. “I’m happy, too,” he said softly, and smiled cautiously. 

Alicia smiled back and patted his shoulder, letting him go. “You have fun now,” she said, and Harry rolled his eyes fondly.

“Yes ma’m,” he said jokingly.

And they were off. Louis had a vague notion that he should probably be worried about the amount of money he’d spent on train tickets lately, but Harry was in the seat next to him, an their thighs were touching, and they were holding hands, and the snow sparkled in the sun outside, and not much else seemed to matter.

*

When they entered Louis’ and Niall’s flat, still holding hands, Niall cast one glance at them from the sofa and grinned.

“Finally!” He yelled and pumped a fist in the air.

Louis laughed, kicked off his shoes, and still holding Harry’s hand, led them into the flat to sit down next to Niall.

“Hello to you too,” Louis chirped. 

“I’m so glad you nerds finally got together,” Niall said and slapped Harry’s back. “The band’s first official single is about you, you know.”

Harry’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open, in a disbelieving sort of smile. Louis gasped indignantly and punched Niall in the arm.

“I thought I told you to stop writing songs about my love life!”

Harry looked at Louis with his lips quirked upwards. Niall shrugged and rubbed on his arm where Louis had hit him.

“Like I said before, it’s not my fault that your life is so dramatic.”

Louis sighed and moved away from Niall until he was sitting on Harry’s lap, with his arms folded over his chest. 

“I hope it’s a good song, at least,” he mumbled.

Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and put his chin to rest on Louis’ shoulder.

“Oh, it’s brilliant,” Niall said. “You seemed to like it well enough the other week. Open waters?”

Louis had liked that song, but he couldn’t praise it now without seriously hurting his pride. So he huffed, said nothing, and let the silence speak for him. But Harry was stroking Louis’ stomach with tiny movements of his thumbs, and Louis found it difficult to stay annoyed. He felt warm inside and maybe it was Harry’s body heat and maybe it wasn’t.

Either way, it was nice.

*

After a few months of more and more of Harry’s stuff ending up at Louis’ and Niall’s, it seemed natural that he would move in. He got a key, and Louis made room in his closet, and in a second-hand shop they found a chair so Harry could have a place to work at Louis’ desk.

“This means I have to start being organised on my desk, though,” Louis said and frowned. Harry laughed and started putting the books that were strewn on the desk back into the shelf. 

“That’s probably a good thing, love,” he said as he picked up Love is a mixtape. “Oh, wow, look at this.”

Louis felt his heart jump. “Yeah, wow,” he said.

“If it wasn’t for this book I wouldn’t be here,” Harry said slowly, and stroked the spine as he opened it.

“Really?” Louis was surprised.

Harry nodded. “Came across a quote from it on Tumblr after that night,” he said, and Louis shivered. “Basically it made me realise that we should be together while we can.”

“Aww,” Louis said sarcastically, “that’s beautiful, Harry.”

“Don’t act like you hate it,” Harry said, and put the book in front of some others, so it was displayed. “I know you like me now, you can cut the unbothered act.”

His tone was teasing, but Louis’ face lost its smugness. He walked over to Harry and put a hand on his chest, over his heart.

“I know you know,” he mumbled, and looked up at Harry. 

Harry smiled at him. “Can I have a kiss, then?” he asked.

Of course he could.

*

A temperature rise can make a big difference. Sitting on the windowsill to smoke seemed much more pleasant when the trees started to get green again. If Harry sat with him, it felt outright luxurious.

Louis had a cigarette in one hand and Harry’s hand in the other, and even though the air was still chilly, there was life in it. 

“I’m so jealous of you,” Louis said out of the blue. “You know what you want and you’re working towards it. What do I do? Nothing, that’s what.”

Harry was silent for a few moments, and squeezed Louis’ hand. 

“Do you remember that conversation we had about careers?”

Louis snorted. “What, when you said I should take up porn?”

Harry laughed. “That conversation, yes, but that’s not what I meant. English professor? Have you thought any about it?”

Louis took a drag of his cigarette. He hadn’t given it much thought, actually. He’d been so wrapped up in his own drama at the present time, and the future had just seemed blurry and improbable. 

“Can’t say that I have,” he mumbled, letting smoke tumble out of his mouth. “Maybe I will.”

Later that night, when Louis was comfortably wrapped around a sleeping Harry, he did think about it.

He’d have to get his shit together and make an effort with studying. Probably talk to Zayn about it at some point, which he didn’t know how he felt about. But he nuzzled the soft hairs in the nape of Harry’s neck and imagined being called “Professor Tomlinson”.

It did have kind of a nice ring to it.

Louis swallowed. What if he failed, though? What would his backup be? What do you do with a literature degree if you fail at the one thing it’s good for?

He eventually fell asleep, with his brows still furrowed, to the sound of Harry’s breathing.

*

Louis spent the next week trying to imagine himself as a professor. He’d be reading books for a living – that was in the pro column on the list he was writing in his head. The con column was just one thing, many times over: what if I fail? What if I fail? What if I fail?

It slipped out of his mouth one night. They were watching Gilmore Girls, and Louis was only half-watching, turning his options over and over in his head. He didn’t mean to say it, but once it was out he couldn’t take it back.

“What if I fail?” His voice sounded small and anxious and Louis hated it.

It took Harry a few seconds to snap out of Stars Hollow and into Louis’ head. He looked at Louis tentatively, and reached for his hand.

“You won’t fail,” he said.

“You don’t know that, though,” Louis said irritably, because there was really no way Harry could promise him that. He let Harry hold his hand, though.

Harry shrugged. “No, but I believe.”

It sounded so simple when Harry said it like that. Believe. It sounded like something his mum would embroider on a pillow: Believe In Yourself! Louis sighed.

“Do you really think you’d fail, if you tried it?” Harry asked.

Louis paused to think about it. He could see himself doing it, and doing it well, sure. But he could also imagine getting fired for swearing too much or being overcome by stress or just plain not being smart enough.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. 

Jess and Rory were on screen, flirting over a book. Rory Gilmore wouldn’t have let this kind of doubt stop her, Louis thought.

“So where’s the harm in trying?” Harry’s voice was gentle. “That’s what I’m doing, you know. Leap of faith and all that.”

“And I have no doubt you’ll succeed,” Louis said and squeezed his hand.

Harry smiled and squeezed back. “So why can’t you put some of that faith in yourself?”

Louis fell silent. That was a fair question. Why couldn’t he? He shrugged, and pointed to the screen. Harry watched him for a second before taking Louis’ suggestion and turning his attention back to the show.

They watched in silence, and Louis thought: I have to try. What else is there? What else do I want? There’s nothing else for me. As soon as he told himself ‘I’m going to try’, a smile broke out on his face.

“Harry,” he said. “I’m going to try.”

Then there were kisses and happiness and Louis felt lighter than he’d done in a while.

He was going to have a future.

*

Maybe it was the grass getting greener, or maybe it was feeling good about his life, but Louis felt like the world was new. He went to his lectures and actually paid attention; now that he had a goal, everything seemed ten times more interesting and worthwhile. 

It didn’t hurt that he got to come home to Harry, either. He’d rest his feet on Harry’s thighs when they were both on the sofa reading, Harry for pleasure and Louis for school. They’d cook with Niall and Louis would draw a penis on his pasta with ketchup. It was silly and immature, but it made Harry laugh, so it was all good.

The amount of couple selfies Harry and Louis posted on Instagram was objectively super annoying, but Louis found himself unable to care. The person who had been worried about what people might think wasn’t him any more. He was free and mostly pretty happy.

But it did come as a surprise when one day, Stan liked one of his pictures of Harry.

They hadn’t spoken since that unfortunate time several months ago. Louis had been meaning to reach out, but he kept putting it off because it was difficult. But unless Louis imagined things, this was Stan reaching out.

“Harry?” he called from the sofa.

Harry and Niall were in the kitchen, talking about something, and both looked over to Louis when he said Harry’s name.

“Yes, darling?” Harry said brightly.

“Actually, Niall, could you come here as well?” Louis said.

Niall and Harry came over and looked slightly worried. “Stan liked one of my Harry pics on insta,” Louis said, and showed them the notification on the screen.

“Oooh,” Niall said. “What do you think that means?”

“I was hoping you’d magically know,” Louis said. 

Harry said nothing, just sat down next to Louis with his brows furrowed. Absent-mindedly he started drawing a circle on Louis’ thigh. Louis smiled at the touch, but in the corner of his eye he could see Niall shaking his head at them and snapped out of it.

“Sorry,” he said in Niall’s direction. “Do you have any idea, Haz?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. He paused for a second. “Maybe he’s giving us his blessing.”

Louis frowned. “Maybe. So what do I do?” He looked to Niall, and then to Harry. Both of them shrugged.

“What do you want to do?” Harry asked.

“I just want him to be my friend again,” Louis said. He sighed. “I don’t know.”

“Then reach out,” Harry said softly.

Louis bit his lip and looked to Niall, who nodded when Louis’ eyes met his.

“Okay then,” Louis mumbled. “I guess I will.”

It took him two hours to compose a text and gather the courage to send it. There was nothing heavy in it, just a question if Stan wanted to meet up, and one smiley. He’d considered two, but Niall and Harry agreed that it might be a little much.

It took Stan two minutes to respond. Louis jumped when his phone pinged, and he could see Harry bite back a laugh. He glared at him and unlocked the phone with restless fingers. Better know as soon as possible if Stan never wanted to see him again.

That wasn’t the case, though. Louis smiled at his phone, and then at Harry.

“He said yes,” he said, and felt like his whole body was smiling. “We’re meeting up tomorrow!”

Harry hugged him. “That’s great, Lou,” he said.

Louis felt relieved already. At least there was a chance that he hadn’t lost his oldest friend. He squeezed Harry tightly and allowed himself to be hopeful.

*

The next day was a Monday and Louis spent his lectures looking at the time and going over conversations him and Stan might have in his head. His hopefulness had worn off; he was nervous. Maybe Stan wanted to see him to “break up” properly? Hurt Louis a little bit? Louis drew abstract doodles in his notebook with a restless hand. When the lecture was over he had no notes, just a mess of ink.

He got to the pub early. In the fifteen minutes he had to wait for Stan, he’d almost downed his first pint. He first noticed Stan through the glass as he was drinking, and his nerves came back again. Quickly, he swallowed and lowered his glass.

Stan was smiling. “Hiya,” he said.

“Hey,” Louis replied. They were silent for a second.

“Er, I’m going to get a pint,” Stan said and gestured vaguely toward the bar.

Louis nodded and looked at his own, nearly empty glass. He didn’t dare ask Stan to get one for him, too. In the few minutes Stan was gone, Louis finished, and thought he’d go get a new one when Stan came back. But Stan came back carrying two pints. Like he used to.

“You didn’t have to,” Louis mumbled as Stan pushed the beer over the table to him.

“’S not a big deal,” Stan said, clearly trying to be casual. Louis grabbed the glass and took a breath, determined to not make this any weirder.

“How was your day?” He asked, and cringed, because he didn’t sound casual at all.

Stan laughed and looked down at his pint. “I was a bit nervous, to be honest.”

Louis felt some of the tension disappear. “Me too,” he admitted.

“It’s just–“ Stan paused. “I guess, I thought it’d be fine since seeing you with Harry has kinda, I don’t know, cured me of whatever I was feeling, but I was worried it’d be different to see you in the flesh.”

Louis could only think of one thing to say. “Is it?”

Stan looked up at him. After a second of silence, he shook his head. “Nah, I’m good.”

“I missed you, man,” Louis said, and felt his cheeks going red. Showing feelings: yuck.

Louis looked down at the table. It seemed to him like every night he’d spent in this very bar with Stan was ingrained in the lines in the wood, and he remembered.

“So,” Stan said, and Louis had to look up at him. “How’ve you been?”

This wasn’t the time to smile but Louis couldn’t stop it. “Good,” he said. “I mean, for a good while it was bad, but it’s better now.” He ran his fingers over the cool glass.

Stan rolled his eyes. “Falling in love solved all your problems, huh?” His tone was sarcastic.

Louis frowned. “No,” he said slowly, trying to find his thoughts. “It was just– I guess it helped a little bit, but I’ve decided what I want to do now, so that makes everything more meaningful.”

“What’s that, then?” Stan smiled at him and Louis allowed himself a sip before he replied.

“I’m gonna be an English professor,” he said. Saying it out loud like it was actually real made him feel fluttery; it was almost the same feeling as seeing Harry smile.

“That’s great, Lou,” Stan said. He sounded like he meant it.

Louis had his oldest friend back.

*

**A few weeks later**

This time when Niall and his boys took to the stage, Louis basked in the sweetness. Look at me, he wanted to say, I’m not afraid. Life is too short to be bitter when there are such sweet things in it. Tunes to hum, drinks to drink, boys to kiss. How could he not like that?

It was foolish, but Louis was hopeful. He felt like he’d have a summer after this never-ending winter. Niall smiled and introduced the band, and with the first strums of his guitar, Louis felt like anything could happen.

“Thank you all for coming out tonight,” Niall said and swept his sweaty fringe out of his eyes before grinning at the audience. “The next song is the reason we’re all here: our first official single, Open Waters!”

Louis and Harry cheered as loudly as they could. Stan grinned amusedly at them, but he was also clapping his hands. Louis glanced over at him and smiled, shrugging as if to say ‘who cares if being enthusiastic isn’t cool, I’m having fun’. Stan nodded at him. Then the first dusty chords rang through the venue, and Louis looked back on stage. He grabbed Harry’s hand and Harry squeezed it.

For the first time in many months, Louis genuinely felt like he was okay. Like everything would be all right.

“The ocean could swallow us up, and maybe it will,” Niall sang softly, and Louis felt Harry wrapping his arms around him from behind.

“I can’t see an end when I’m with you,” the verse went on, and Harry kissed Louis’ neck. When they got to the chorus, Louis turned around to kiss Harry properly.

“Open waters, my stormy heart has settled down,” Niall belted out, while the boys “ooh”-ed in the background.

In this moment, Louis was so far from angry at Niall for writing about him. A kiss had never felt so sweet as it did right now, with the bass vibrating through them, with friends by his side, with a reason to wake up in the morning.

“These waters are open and I’m ready to love you now,” sang the band. “These arms are open and I could drown in you now.”

And now that he could finally breathe, Louis let himself drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the end!
> 
> thank you so much for reading. :)


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